


Shelter

by Raberba girl (Raberba_girl)



Series: The Birds Who Smile [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Adopted Children, Brothers, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Children, Cor Leonis is Prompto Argentum's Parent, Crossover, Dad Bruce Wayne, Dark Nights: Metal Arc, Don’t copy to another site, Family, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Fatherhood, Gen, Homeless Bruce Wayne, Homelessness, MT Prompto Argentum, Minor proofreading we have a brush with death like mne, Parenthood, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Protective Siblings, Siblings, Sign Language, Special needs children, Stressed Bruce Wayne, accidental teenager acquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22637224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raberba_girl/pseuds/Raberba%20girl
Summary: All Bruce Wayne wants to do is get himself and his three youngest children home to their own universe. Then he finds a barefoot autistic teenager sitting abandoned in a park, and it's not like Bruce can just leave him there. Crossover between my Batman fic "The Birds Who Smile" and lithos_saeculum's Final Fantasy XV fic "Poor Wayfaring Stranger."
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & His Kids, Dark Robins (Earth -22) & Bruce Wayne, Prompto Argentum & Bruce Wayne, Prompto Argentum & Dark Robins (Earth -22)
Series: The Birds Who Smile [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/961836
Comments: 134
Kudos: 229





	1. Chapter 1

[working title: _Shelter_ ]

(rough draft)

A Batman / Final Fantasy XV crossover fanfic by Raberba girl

****If you paid money to read this work of fanfiction, that means it was stolen and reposted without the author's knowledge or consent. Please do not support apps or web sites that repost without permission and/or illegally profit off of other people's work.**

Summary: All Bruce Wayne wants to do is get himself and his three youngest children home to their own universe. Then he finds a barefoot autistic teenager sitting abandoned in a park, and it's not like Bruce can just leave him there. Crossover between my Batman fic "The Birds Who Smile" and lithos_saeculum's Final Fantasy XV fic "Poor Wayfaring Stranger."

A/N: I _swear_ I wasn't going to write this, I was going to just leave it to daydreams, but then my friend breezy-cheezy drew [her sketches for this crossover](https://breezy-cheezy.tumblr.com/post/190318971033/crossover-for-traumatized-kids-from-fics-i-really) and now I have Ideas. *facepalm*

I was trying really hard to finish this before I started posting it, but I've barely posted anything for FF15 even though it's my new fandom and I've been working hard on several ideas for it for a couple of months now, and I've really been wanting to share at least one of them, so....

I cannot think of a good title for this. X'''D _Shelter_ seems inadequate.

Part 1

This place was as clean as Metropolis and didn't have nearly as many abandoned warehouses as Gotham did, but Bruce eventually managed to find a suitable one. The charity workers had asked too many questions, looked too long at his children's scars, and when they'd made noises about placing the kids in foster care until their father 'got back on his feet,' Bruce knew he couldn't trust the homeless shelters.

So here he was, waking up in a nest of bedding he'd scavenged from a donation bin, with his elementary school-aged children performing watch rotations because most of the work he could find usually kept him up late and he no longer had the luxury of sleeping in. When he'd succumbed to sleep deprivation a week and a half into their predicament, the crawling shame of leaving his children defenseless had been even worse than Peter scolding him for falling asleep without tagging anyone for a new shift. All three of the birds were so terribly matter-of-fact about it, as if, even after all this time, sleeping in safety was still the exception rather than the norm.

Bruce stretched methodically. All three of the boys were awake for the day, playing some sort of hopscotch-like game.

"Goo' morring, Daddy!" Jack greeted cheerfully.

"Good morning, Jack."

_"You're tired,"_ John observed.

Bruce sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He _was_ still tired, but he had children to care for and work to do, so, "I'm fine."

_"Hungry!"_ Peter demanded.

Bruce reached for the paper bag he'd tucked away and extracted the meager bits of food he'd saved from the day before. Jack cheered and Peter enthusiastically signed _"Food food food!"_ as they crowded close.

John watched Bruce silently, almost thoughtfully, as he consumed the stale biscuit he was given. "But there is no beakfas' for Daddy," Jack observed. He finished his own few mouthfuls, then looked at his empty hands. "Oh no!"

_"More please,"_ Peter demanded.

"There's no more food right now, Peter."

_"Please give me more,_ ffoo'd pllease!" Peter insisted, as if it had been his performance that was lacking.

He did it every single day, but Bruce still felt sick. "Peter, I _want_ to give you more, but there isn't any." He upended the now empty paper bag and shook it a little.

" _crow_!"

"All gone," Jack said sadly.

"I'm going to get some more for you soon. Let's go."

They left the warehouse and made their way through the streets. Bruce had made it a priority early on to obtain hats for the children - most people here had black hair, barely anyone had red, and no one at all had green. No metas as far as he could tell, either. The birds were already very distinctive-looking with their scars, pointed ears, and bicolored hair, and Bruce did not want to draw any more attention than they had to.

Their first stop was a public restroom so they could all use the toilets and brush their teeth. Next was a soup kitchen. Bruce by himself didn't draw any second glances, so he left the children hidden behind a dumpster, giving his pocketknife to John and knowing that all three birds would crow to alert him if anyone tried to harm them.

Bruce went through the line as quickly as he could, using sleight-of-hand to sneak extra food into his pockets and sleeves. Instead of finding a seat, he moved the contents of the tray into the paper bag he was carrying and then went outside. He whistled the all-clear signal, and even though the separation had only been a few minutes, he was still as relieved as ever to see his children romping safely out to greet him.

"Gimme," Peter insisted, making grabby hands.

"In a minute, Peter. Soon." They found a bench to sit on a few blocks away. Bruce split a hash brown between the younger boys and then had to trade the packet of cereal to get his knife back - John was usually reluctant to relinquish it. All three of the boys got a share of eggs and toast, and they passed the cartons of milk and juice between each other. Of the extra food Bruce had stolen, he ate the sausage, partly because it would spoil soonest and partly because even now that food wasn't plentiful, the birds still refused to eat meat. He stored the leftovers in the paper bag.

Next was shopping. Luckily, they weren't in dire need of anything at the moment other than protein bars, which Bruce purchased a box of. He wondered if he was ever going to get over the fact that he had over $800 in his wallet and even a few other miscellaneous currencies, yet it was all worthless in this world, which used crowns locally and something called gil universally. Of those, Bruce only had just enough for bus fare to the library, and it _chafed_ being so penniless when he was used to having a billionaire's resources. ...Jason would probably have a lot to say about that.

Thinking about Jason and the rest of his children was painful, so Bruce made himself stop. He focused on the Jason he had here with him, the smaller one who was currently giggling as he played a hand game with his brothers. "Boys," Bruce murmured.

He regretted it a little when they abruptly came to attention, staring at him. _"I love you,"_ he signed.

They all grinned and relaxed; Peter slung his arms around Bruce's neck and Jack climbed into his lap. "Daaaaaddy," the youngest crooned. Bruce kissed the top of his head. Even John leaned to kiss Bruce's cheek in a deliberate sort of way.

"Thank you, John."

o.o.o

At the library, Bruce found some books to keep the children occupied, which they flipped through as they sat at his feet. He made the most of his time on the computer, also taking the opportunity to juice up the phones with the secondhand universal charger he'd obtained. He was allotted three hours of computer time per day, with wait times in between each hour so that other patrons could have a turn.

He spent the breaks studying newspapers and magazines, and the computer time doing cultural research and working to familiarize himself with this world's coding style, hoping to eventually get proficient enough to make his life easier. When the children got bored of books, they watched movies on Jack's phone and took a nap at one point. Once Bruce had used up all his computer time, he worked on lessons with the boys using both books he found on the shelves and ones he'd purchased dirt-cheap at the library's ongoing book sale.

Lunch was protein bars for the boys and the remains of breakfast for Bruce. Then he let the kids play to release their pent-up energy from the quiet morning, taking the opportunity to fill all their available bottles from the water fountain. Once the boys started to calm down, it was back to the warehouse for Bruce's much-needed daily nap, and he fell asleep to the sound of another cartoon on Jack's phone.

o.o.o

Just like in Gotham, the overcast skies made it seem like evening already even though sunset was hours off. Bruce kept alert as they passed the playground nearest the warehouse, knowing the kids would veer into it. It was their last chance of the day to be active, and they always made the most of it.

The playground was a small and rather pathetic enclosure that contained exactly three pieces of play equipment, and Bruce had yet to see anyone else using it for anything other than drug deals. Those usually happened after sunset, though, and the little park was at least greener than the surrounding concrete jungle. There was actually a person here today, but they were alone and not at all threatening. Bruce kept an eye on the figure out of the corner of his eye as he watched the boys.

Peter flung himself facedown on the roundabout and kicked his foot against the ground to propel himself. Jack, after a struggle, managed to stuff himself into the baby swing at one end of the swing set. John waited patiently for him to finish, then hopped up to stand on the top edge of the seat and swing both himself and his brother. Bruce had the feeling a responsible parent would make them stop and swing properly, but Jack couldn't accidentally fall out and John was literally Dick Grayson, so he let them be.

Once the children were settled, Bruce turned his full attention to the other person in the park. The person was young and...colorful. After getting used to a city full of dark-haired people who favored dark clothing, it was rather a jolt to see stark blond hair, a bright green shirt, pink pants, and a yellow plush backpack all on the same person.

"Er." The kid was curled up with their face hidden against their knees, and...their feet were bare, damaged as if they'd walked a long way in the cold. Bruce couldn't see any associated adults around. "Hello there." Remembering how much he loomed over small people, he cautiously took a seat at the far end of the bench. "Kid? Hey. Can you hear me?"

The person shifted, then slowly raised their head. They made a soft sound as if trying to speak, but whatever the word was sounded more like a cough.

"Hey, it's all right. My name is Bruce. Are your parents around? Or...foster parents? Your adults?"

The kid stared at him. They had blue eyes, freckles, and were probably a boy (except that Bruce didn't know any teenage boys other than Dick and presumably John who would dress like rainbow vomit).

"Where are your shoes, chum?"

The boy looked at his feet as if he had never seen them before. "I don't know," he said quietly.

Well, crap. "Do you live nearby?" Bruce asked hopefully.

The boy swallowed. "No."

Double crap. "What's your name?" Bruce asked. "I'm Bruce," he said again, since there was a good chance the boy didn't remember, "and those are my sons: John, Peter, and Jack." Peter had joined his brothers by now. He and John were both trying to pull Jack out of the baby swing; Bruce tensed when the youngest boy abruptly fell out, but Peter cushioned his fall, and none of them seemed worse for wear when they trotted over to the monkey bars. John immediately climbed to perch on top, looking around in satisfaction like an actual bird.

Bruce turned back to the boy on the bench. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear that. Could you tell me again?"

"M...My name is Prompto Argentum."

"I see." Bruce made an impulsive move to check the news on his phone to see if any mention was made of the boy, then remembered that he didn't have service here. "Well, Prompto, is there anyone we can call to come get you, or anywhere I can take you?"

Prompto straightened, setting his feet on the ground. "C...Cor. You can...call Cor...."

Bruce frowned a little. "Cor who?"

Prompto didn't answer for a minute, then finally said, "Cor Leonis."

The full name rang a faint bell, though not one strong enough to be helpful. "Do you know Cor's phone number?"

Prompto stared at him, eyes wide.

"It's okay," Bruce assured him, even though it wasn't. So _frustrating_ when parents didn't teach their children critical information in case this exact situation happened. Even his little birds could sing the manor's phone number if prompted. "We can-- Oh, chum, don't cry. We'll figure something out." Prompto's big blue eyes had started to glisten, the muscles in his jaw tense.

Looking at his jaw made it easy to look at the collar around his neck, and Bruce stared at it for a minute, processing the details. Made of metal and plastic, it didn't at all match the rest of the boy's fanciful outfit. It looked quite a lot like...something a child should not have around their neck. "Prompto," Bruce said slowly, "what sort of collar is that you're wearing?"

The boy blinked and reached up a hand to the collar, though he didn't touch it. "It's a corrective device. In case I make a serious error."

Bruce's blood ran cold. "...Who gave you that collar?"

"Cor."

Bruce immediately straightened up and turned away, knowing from the _fury_ flooding his body that his face would be making an expression the boy shouldn't see.

Once he'd gotten himself under control, he turned back and said, trying to keep his voice steady, "Who else knows that you're wearing a...corrective device?"

Prompto blinked as if he found the question strange. "Ignis. And Noctis, and Gladio. And the one from the phone and the one with the club."

Club?

"And the silent ones. And the one with the white coat." There was a pause. "A lot of people."

Bruce swallowed. The name Noctis sounded vaguely familiar, like he'd come across it in one of his research sessions at the library. Royalty, that was it. The crown prince of this place was named Noctis, though there was no telling if Prompto meant Prince Noctis specifically or someone else who happened to have the same name. "The silent ones?"

"Yes. They all have the same uniform." Prompto swallowed. "I think...I went out the window. Because if I went out the door, the night-time silent one would have stopped me."

Bruce wanted to scream. So now he had a teenage boy on his hands who'd been outfitted with a shock collar by his primary guardian, possibly with the knowledge of the royal family, and was under guard but had managed to escape. Bruce didn't know if Prompto was a political prisoner or a lab experiment or what, but he couldn't go to the police with this. Uniformed guards meant organization. If he had his usual resources, he could get to the bottom of this, but not when he was broke and homeless in an alternate universe with three young children to look after.

...Apparently four children now. Bruce stood up. "Listen, Prompto. If you need help and you don't have anywhere else to go, would you like to come with me?" Prompto didn't seem like he'd been taught to be wary of strangers, but if he had, Bruce would figure out how to watch over him from a distance or something. At the very least, he could bring the kid some different clothes to help him blend in better. And some _shoes_.

Prompto stared at him. At last he said, "I don't know where to go."

"All right. Well, I don't have much, but it's better than sitting alone in a park." Sticking out like a sore thumb, where anyone looking for him would probably recognize him immediately. "Here--" Bruce knelt and tied his handkerchief around one of the boy's ice-cold, mottled feet. He didn't have a second handkerchief, but he did have another bit of cloth to use for the same purpose. "I'll get you some shoes as soon as I can, but in the meantime, it's better than nothing. Can you stand?" He straightened up and reached out. After a moment, Prompto took his hand. He tugged and the boy stood up, sending his bird-shaped backpack tumbling to the ground.

They both looked down at it. Prompto stooped to pick it up, squeezing it like it was a stuffed animal.

"That's a nice bag you've got there," Bruce said gently.

"It's for carrying books." Prompto had an odd, flat way of speaking, and Bruce suddenly wondered if the boy was autistic. Not that it really changed anything, but it was something to keep in mind.

"I see. Do you have any books in there?" It had occurred to him to wonder if Prompto had any documentation on him, or anything else that would provide clues to his background.

Prompto opened his bag in answer, then went still and stared. Bruce peered into the bag and was surprised to see that it contained three potted plants. "Why...do you have plants in your bag?"

Prompto swallowed hard. "I didn't...know they were there." He reached inside, and Bruce held the bag for him so he could gently extract the plants. Prompto tucked the cactus into the crook of his elbow and held the less hardy plants in his hands, looking at them in dismay. They were bruised and a bit squashed-looking, a couple of flowers dropping from the jessamine. "I didn't know they were in the bag," he said again, sounding near tears.

Bruce's heart was breaking for him. "We'll put them somewhere safe and give them a chance to recover."

Prompto, still holding all three plants, bent down and struggled to pick up the fallen flowers.

"Here," Bruce said, picking them up himself. "I can help you carry everything."

Prompto only continued clutching his plants and stared at him, so Bruce finally tucked the flowers into his breast pocket. He turned and called to the birds. "Boys, time to go!"

"No!" Peter shouted immediately, hanging upside-down from the monkey bars.

"Yes," Bruce called back. "We have to go get dinner."

"Nooooo!"

"Now I _know_ you're not hearing a word I'm saying." Peter never passed up a chance to eat.

The other boys were obeying, John ambling and Jack scampering toward their father. "Daddy, who's that?" Jack inquired, galloping right up to the teenager and peering at him curiously.

"This is Prompto. He's going to come along with us."

"Pompo!" Then he frowned, and at the same moment, John let out a sudden crow. _"What is that?"_ Jack demanded in sign language, pointing at the collar as his Drake glare zeroed in on Bruce. Peter, sensing the urgency in his brother's crow, had climbed down from the monkey bars and was now hurrying over.

Bruce paid close attention to his own body language as he said, "I didn't put it there, Jack. I'm not happy about it, either."

_"Off,"_ John signed violently, hissing. _"Off, off!"_

Peter, now close enough to see the collar, shrieked in horrified outrage and then began a tirade in bird language.

Bruce turned to Prompto, who was looking tense and nervous. "Prompto," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, "will you let me take a look at that collar? I'd like to take it off."

Prompto took a step back. "I-- I have to wear it."

"Not anymore, Prompto," Bruce said gently. "You escaped that place, so now you don't have to wear the collar anymore. May I look at it, please?"

"I have to wear it. Cor said-- And it will correct me if I try to take it off."

Bruce kept a tight rein on his body language, caught between his own fury and four children with two different sets of baggage.

"Cco'lllar off!" John insisted aloud. "Off!"

"Boose," Jack said, and that was bad, it was a long time since he'd called him by his name. "Colla' is bad for li'l boys, you take it off. Please." His don't-mess-with-Tim-Drake eyes were still boring into Bruce.

"NO!" Peter was shouting in the midst of his angry twittering. "NO!" He shoved Bruce. "Bbat'mman!!"

Bruce didn't react to that. He drew in a quiet breath. "Prompto. It's wrong for people to hurt children. Whoever put that collar on you was wrong, and I would like very much to take it off. You deserve to be safe."

Prompto clutched his plants harder and didn't answer.

John lost the last of his patience and grabbed at the collar. Bruce shouted in warning, too late; then Prompto jerked and went unnaturally stiff, the plants falling from his hold. Bruce shoved John away and caught Prompto before he could fall. The boy lay slumped in his arms, looking dazed.

"He said not to touch the collar," Bruce said, trying with difficulty to keep the worried anger out of his voice. "It hurts him if you try to take it off. We have to do it later and much more carefully, do you understand?"

John was staring at Prompto, looking stricken; Peter surged closer and started clawing at Bruce. Bruce didn't resist, knowing Peter would turn to self-harm if he didn't let him vent, and painful as the scratches were, his clothing would protect him from the worst of it.

Jack was staring, too. _"What happened?"_ he signed.

"Whoever put this collar on him didn't want anyone to take it off. That bad person designed it to hurt him if it was taken off."

Bruce kept an eye on the Robins until he was reasonably sure they weren't going to attack, then turned his attention to Prompto. The boy hadn't moved and was staring blankly into the distance. "Prompto?" There was no response. "Prompto?" he called louder, carefully jostling the boy to rouse him.

Prompto blinked. "I...I didn't hear," he said, gasping slightly.

"How are you feeling?"

"I feel...confused," the boy said hesitantly. "I know what happened. But I - feel confused."

"Disoriented?"

"Oh - yes," Prompto said more strongly. "Disoriented."

"All right." Bruce helped him stand. "Are you feeling any pain?"

Prompto's hand hovered near the collar again. "It's only painful when it's activated." There was a pause. "It's not activated anymore."

"Okay," Bruce said warily. "I'm sorry that happened. The boys are upset because someone hurt them when they were younger and made them wear collars similar to yours. They know how terrible it is, and they don't want anyone else to feel as trapped and dehumanized as they did back then."

Prompto stared at him. Then he suddenly gasped and looked down at the fallen plants. He dropped to his knees and looked like he was about to cry as his hands hovered over the dislodged soil.

"Oh no, oh no, the pants fell down!" Jack exclaimed, crouching to look.

John was already turning the pots upright, and Bruce urged him to be gentle. He quickly took over, cradling the stems as he got them re-situated and directing the boys as they worked on scooping the soil back into the containers. "No, that bit went with the jessamine, Johnny. Let's try to get the right soil into the right pots."

Once the plants were as reassembled as they were going to get, Bruce set them all on the bench. Prompto stared at them, his eyes still glistening.

"Prompto," Bruce said, "it's all right. They'll repair themselves over time."

Prompto's eyes moved to him and widened even further. "They will?"

"Yes. Their bodies heal just like yours does."

Prompto stared at his own hands in astonishment, then at the plants again.

Bruce straightened up. "All right, listen, we need to get going." He paused and thought a minute, mapping out the rest of the night. There was something they needed to do before heading out to look for work, but the Robins were already on edge and needed some warning. "Boys," Bruce said, signing as he spoke for clarity, "I am going to teach Prompto some self-defense. I will not hurt him. We will practice self-defense like you did when you were learning how to protect yourselves. Okay?"

The children were huddled together now, exchanging comfort. _"Do not hurt him,"_ Jack signed.

"I won't." Bruce turned to the teenager. "Prompto, I'm going to teach you some things to do if someone ever tries to hurt you or take you somewhere you don't want to go."

The boy looked rather mystified the entire time Bruce explained and demonstrated, but when Bruce said "Now you try," Prompto said uncertainly, "You want to...spar?"

Bruce stared at him. "You know what 'spar' means?"

"It means fighting to train as opposed to fighting in real combat."

"Er...right," Bruce said mentally recalculating. "Look, Prompto. We're going to spar _gently_. We'll only pretend to fight, I won't hurt you. I just want to see how much you know."

"Yes, I understand," Prompto said, sounding fairly confident.

Bruce went at the boy with some basic moves, setting a slow pace. Prompto easily matched it, and Bruce could tell immediately that the boy had had training. He didn't recognize the style, which was efficient and devoid of artistry, but the basics were there, and Prompto did display analytical ability and a learned form. Bruce upped the skill level again and again until he determined that Prompto's hand-to-hand combat skills were good enough to meet vigilante standards. Then he stepped back and stared.

After a minute, the faintly satisfied expression on Prompto's face turned a little anxious. "Did I do it wrong?"

"No," Bruce assured him, "no, you did very well." Which meant he was more likely in the lab experiment category than the political prisoner one. Maybe he'd been the product of some sort of super-soldier program.

Bruce sighed and refocused. "All right. I'm glad you know how to defend yourself. I'll explain more later."

He carried the cactus himself, worried that the kids might hurt themselves on the spines, and Prompto carried the other two plants in his arms. The younger children flocked around Prompto as they walked, holding onto his clothes and exchanging a flurry of twittering and signing at each other. Prompto watched them, wide-eyed, and at one point said while they were waiting to cross the street, "They look like humans but they sound like birds."

"They're humans," Bruce said. "They weren't allowed to speak while they were held in captivity, so they made up a language based on bird sounds in order to communicate."

Prompto stared. "They made...a language...?"

"They assigned meanings to particular sounds and movements. Their abuser wouldn't let them speak English, so they found another way to speak to each other. They're very clever."

_"They're talking about us,"_ Jack told his brothers in ASL, eyeing Bruce, and the older boys twittered in response.

As Prompto watched them intently, Bruce continued, "We taught them sign language when they came to live with us. It was hard for them to speak English again after they'd spent so long being drugged and talking like birds, so now it's easier for them to communicate with their hands."

"Oh," Prompto remarked, still staring.

"Would you like to learn?"

Prompto's head turned sharply to look at him.

Bruce stopped and put down the cactus, instructing Prompto to put the other plants down as well. "What's something you would like to say in sign language?"

Prompto was quiet for a minute. Then he said, "I wish I knew where the house by the park was."

...Perhaps it was where he'd been living before he'd been taken captive? "All right," Bruce said slowly. "This is 'house.' Use your hands to make the same motions I am."

Prompto dutifully repeated all the signs. Bruce explained how to put them together grammatically, and at last Prompto was able to sign, _"I like the house by the park."_

"Very good," Bruce praised, and was rewarded with a tiny smile.

_"Is it a good house or a bad house?"_ John signed.

Bruce interpreted, and Prompto replied, "It was a good house. It was home."

"I'm sorry you were taken from there," Bruce said with genuine regret. Then it occurred to him that there might be a true caretaker to contact with news about their lost child. "Who else did you live with when you were there?"

He was not expecting the answer to be, "Cor."

After a moment, Bruce swallowed. It sounded like this 'Cor' had either betrayed the child they'd been responsible for or had groomed him for captivity from the start. Bruce wanted to get his hands on 'Cor' and throw them off a building. "I see."

They continued on their way, Bruce carrying all three plants so that the Robins could teach Prompto more ASL. By the time they neared the soup kitchen, the teenager was looking more animated than he had since Bruce had found him.

"All right, we're going to need to put this on hold. Prompto, are you allergic to anything?"

"...What does 'allergic' mean?" Prompto asked hesitantly.

"It means an abnormally high sensitivity to certain substances. For example, some people are allergic to peanuts or milk. Is there anything you've eaten or drunk that made you sick, without there being an obvious reason?"

Prompto thought about this for a while, then finally said, "I don't think so. There were...reasons."

"All right. Let me know right away if you ever feel sick, all right?"

"Yes."

"Good." Bruce gave the plants back to Prompto and made sure all four children were hidden while he went to get their food. It was dark by the time they settled down a few blocks away to eat it. Bruce had them drink first so they could free up some cups in which to divide up the soup. Prompto sipped at his share, then looked surprised.

"What is it?" Bruce asked.

"It...doesn't taste good."

"It-- Does it make you feel sick?"

"No. But it's...." Prompto paused a moment. "...not delicious."

Bruce...did not know what to make of that. Lab experiments usually didn't even have a standard for tasty food. "I'm...sorry. We're low on options, though, so can you still eat it?"

"Yes."

"All right. Eat as much as you can."

Prompto consumed the rest of the not-delicious soup without complaint, but stared at his bread roll in dismay when Bruce handed it to him.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm supposed to...eat this...?"

"Well, you don't _have_ to. You don't like bread?"

Prompto looked up at him, then at the bread. He didn't reply, but the unhappy look on his face was answer enough.

"What about mashed potatoes?" Bruce asked, his heart sinking a little as he pointed to John's share of fluffy carbs. The oldest bird loved potatoes, and gotten them all to himself tonight since Bruce had only been able to get hold of three pieces of bread.

"Oh. Yes."

"All right. Johnny, I'm going to need to trade you a bread roll for some of those mashed potatoes."

" _crow_!"

There was a struggle, which resulted in some dropped food (it didn't go to waste, since Peter had, in their poverty, reverted to the birds' old practice of eating off the ground whenever Bruce wasn't quick enough to stop him). John ended up with most of the chips and Prompto received about a mouthful and a half of potatoes. The teen seemed more perturbed by John's displeasure than by the lack of food, and didn't seem to find any of the other options appetizing at all.

Bruce made him eat a bit of vegetables, but the boy looked so incredibly awkward gnawing on a single green bean, grimacing the whole time, that Bruce didn't have the heart to force him to eat more. Prompto sucked on a small bit of cherry cobbler but physically leaned away from everything else he was offered. With John sulking and Jack going fussy and picky in response to his brother's bad mood, Peter was the only one who ended up decently fed that night, and Bruce barely got anything to eat at all.

He sighed as he threw away their trash, worrying at the lack of leftovers. With an extra person, there'd be less food than ever now. If Prompto had had dark hair, Bruce would have considered taking the boy along with him to a different soup kitchen, but the boy's coloring was definitely not typical of Insomnia. It was fairly obvious that he was from beyond the Wall, and Bruce did not need questions about what a homeless man was doing with an underage refugee who didn't look anything like him. He could try saving up for a dark-colored wig, but it would be difficult to find an affordable one that could pass as real hair on casual inspection.

With the children fed, it was now time to look for work. In response to his knock on the back door of the second club he tried, someone rapped sharply on the other side and he called, "It's Brutus." He'd quickly picked up on the fact that Latin names were the norm here, and he didn't need even more reason to stand out.

The door opened. The lanky man who'd answered jerked his head in brusque invitation and then ambled off. Bruce ushered all the children inside and behind him. "I need to find work for the night," he explained quietly to Prompto as they waited. "Hopefully the manager here will let me earn some money. If he doesn't, we'll have to try a different club."

Finally, the manager, Caspian, came marching toward them, looking angry as always. "Brutus! You no-good slacker, where were you last night?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "You said you weren't hiring last night."

"The hell I did. You gonna run off mid-shift this time, too?"

"I have never left mid-shift. You're confusing me with someone else."

"Shut up! You want work, you know what to do; get going."

"Yes, sir," Bruce said, suppressing a sigh. He waited until Caspian had stormed off again, then gestured for the boys to follow. _"Quiet,"_ he signed, though they knew already to tread cautiously and lay low in places like this. The Robins did, anyway, and Prompto seemed like a naturally quiet boy.

They reached the dressing room and Jack bounced up to one of the friendlier strippers to greet with a fetching smile, "Miss Candy, Miss Candy! Hi~!"

"Hi~ precious," she cooed, hugging him.

"You ssmell like cookies," he informed her.

"Yup, new fragrance! Do you like it?"

"I want cookies!"

"There aren't any cookies," Bruce said, coming up to snag the boy's hand. "Hi, Candy."

"Hello~ Brutus," she cooed.

"I'll see you around." Bruce escaped as soon as he could and rejoined the other boys with Jack in tow.

Since there was some time before the night's work started, the first order of business was to take advantage of the showers here and hopefully get done before Vesta caught them. Bruce herded the boys toward the farthest stall, a tiled enclosure with a shabby curtain to close it off from the corridor. "Let's go, boys, hurry up," he said, drawing the curtain shut after them and digging in his bag for the shampoo/conditioner bottle. (Alfred would be unhappy if he ever learned they'd had to use a blend, but Bruce needed to save money wherever he could, and hair care was not a high priority.)

Jack and John were already undressing. Peter usually would be doing the same, but now he stood rigid, eyes narrowed at Bruce, apparently not yet completely recovered from thinking earlier that his abuser had returned and claimed a new victim. "You can keep your underwear on if you want," Bruce offered, "but you need to wash, Peter." Showers were not easy to come by these days.

After a moment, Peter turned away and started stripping.

Bruce exhaled in relief and turned to the fourth boy. He was startled to find Prompto already taking off his shirt. Then he saw the-- _thing_ embedded in the child's gut and the scars he was covered with. Bruce spun away to hide his expression and give himself a chance to get it under control. He was _seething_. It was looking more and more likely that the boy really had escaped some kind of horrific experimentation.

When Bruce turned back, Prompto was stooped in the process of removing his pants, revealing glimpses of two more implants in his spine. The sight froze Bruce again, and he didn't remember what he'd intended to say until the boy grasped the waistband of his cartoon bird-printed underwear. (Come to think of it, what sort of evil scientists dressed their teenage captive like a six-year-old? Had the boy obtained those colorful clothes before or after his escape??)

"Prompto, wait," Bruce said, gesturing urgently with both hands, "keep your underwear on."

The boy stared at him, then at the three naked children who were playing in the shower spray. Bruce distractedly passed the shampoo bottle to Jack.

"It's-- Your circumstances are different than theirs," Bruce said. It was likely that no one had ever explained to Prompto about appropriate boundaries. "For now, keep your underwear on if you have to shower while I'm present."

"Yes-- ...Yes," Prompto said, wariness joining the confusion on his face.

The first 'yes' had sounded like he'd meant to use a term of address. "Did you forget my name?" Bruce guessed.

Prompto's eyes widened in a panicked sort of way.

"It's all right. My name is Bruce, or Brutus. You can call me either one. Or just B, if you find that easier."

"...Yes, Bruce."

"All right. Take your wristband off, and the cloths on your feet."

Prompto reached for his wristband, then froze. He clamped his hand over his stomach implant and stared at Bruce in dismay.

"It's okay," Bruce hastened to reassure him, "you're not in trouble. I won't let anyone hurt you."

Prompto swallowed. "Do you...think I'm a person?"

Was there any way this child _wouldn't_ break Bruce's heart? "You _are_ a person," Bruce said firmly. "You are as deserving of love and respect as anyone else."

Prompto slowly lowered his hands and said in a testing way, "You know I'm an MT unit but you still think I'm a person."

MT unit? Like the enemy robots that were always in the news? Prompto clearly wasn't a robot. Was the claim that they were robots propaganda, then? Was he a prisoner of war who'd been held for study? It would explain the combat skills.... But whatever Prompto was, he was also a lost, frightened boy who couldn't fend for himself and had shown no sign of violent tendencies. He was less aggressive and far more anxious and obedient than most of Bruce's own children. "Yes," Bruce said.

Prompto relaxed a little, then took off his wristband and looked around. After a moment, he folded his clothes and carefully set the band on top of them, then stooped to unwrap his feet. When he straightened up, Bruce reached out, having glimpsed a stark black design on the boy's wrist. "Prompto, may I look at your right hand for a moment?"

Prompto held it out. Bruce cradled the boy's wrist and tried not to grit his teeth at the confirmation that the tattoo was, indeed, a barcode. He studied it long enough to memorize the number printed below, then released Prompto and said, "All right, go take your turn in the shower."

He shifted his attention to his sons, who were giggling and crowing as they shoved each other in and out of the water. "Hey," he snapped, pitching his voice carefully to sound authoritative but not threatening, "this is not time to play. Get clean and get out."

A minute later, John was rinsing off and Peter was lathering up and Prompto was intently reading the instructions on the shampoo bottle. Jack, waiting his turn, poked curiously at the thing in Prompto's stomach. "What's that?"

"Jack, don't touch people without their permission," Bruce sighed.

"It's a port," Prompto answered.

"Poht! What's a poht?"

"Jack, leave him alone. The person who hurt him put it there."

"It's for sustenance," Prompto said.

Bruce was tired of hearing about Prompto's horror show of a life when he couldn't do anything to bring the boy's abusers to justice. "You don't need to read all the instructions. Just rub some on your hair and body, then rinse it off."

Prompto stared at him in a silent plea.

"...You can read them if you _want_ to, but give Jack some first so he can get going."

Once all four boys were clean, Bruce handed out their sorry excuses for towels, giving his own to Prompto. He got the oldest two boys dressed, turning his back while Prompto took off his soaked underwear. They didn't have a spare set of clean clothes for him, so Prompto had to put his own clothes back on. Bruce gave him his own clean socks to wear since it was better than going barefoot.

Once they were ready, Bruce said silently to John, _"It's not good for Prompto to see me naked. He will wait outside while I shower. Please keep him safe."_

John made an affirmative chirp, one of the few bird words Bruce knew the meaning of. Bruce turned to Prompto and explained, "I'm going to have you wait out there with John while I take a quick shower."

"Yes."

Bruce washed himself in three minutes and then did laundry. He opened a collapsible crate he'd invested in, lined it with plastic, squirted in some shampoo and filled it with water, then dumped in the batch of dirty clothes he'd brought. He swished around the mixture and then called to the younger boys, who'd made a nest out of the towels and were finger-combing each other's hair. "Come help dry."

It was more a way to keep them occupied and out of trouble than anything else, and to help them feel invested in tasks necessary for their wellbeing. Their little hands squeezed and twisted at the clean(er than they were before) garments; Bruce finished wringing them out and piled the damp clothes in a bag to dry properly back at the warehouse.

Once that was done and everyone was dressed and everything packed away, Bruce pushed open the shower curtain. He was relieved to find the older boys where he'd left them (John was standing in front of Prompto protectively), but much less so at the sight of a large frowning woman waiting for him. "I'll pay you as soon as my shift ends, Vesta," Bruce said. Caspian took advantage of his desperation to charge him for the water he used on his children and their clothes, and Vesta always took a cut for herself before delivering the rest to her boss.

"You know the rules. You pay me _now_."

"I have literally no more than two crowns in my possession right now, Vesta. I will pay you as soon as Caspian pays _me_."

"You haven't earned any pay yet," Vesta snarled, but then rounded on her heel and stormed away. Bruce looked down to find Peter and Jack making Monsterbird faces as they glared after her, and he patted them in silent thanks.

They made their way back to the common area of the dressing room, where John tugged Prompto over to the birds' accustomed corner and Peter grabbed his favorite pillow from one of the settees. Bruce got the kids settled and handed his knife to John. "Prompto," he said, "hopefully no one will bother you, but just in case, Jack has a phone to call me with if you need something or if someone makes you uncomfortable. If there's an emergency, if someone's trying to hurt or take away you or the other boys, come get me. It will be dark and loud and crowded, so you probably won't be able to find me. What you need to do instead is climb up on something and make a lot of noise."

Prompto stared at him in anxious disbelief.

"Don't worry, John will look after you. The boys know what to do. If anyone says anything to you that makes you uncomfortable, just don't answer, or tell them that Brutus - that's me - will talk to them later."

"Yes, Bruce."

"I'll try to check on you as often as I can. You can sleep if you get tired; at least one of the boys will be keeping watch."

Bruce headed out and got to work. Things were quiet early on, but as the night progressed, he got busier patrolling the club and intercepting disturbances that cropped up, de-escalating when it was feasible but also perfectly fine with tossing troublemakers out.

He slipped away to check on the boys as often as he could. The second time, John was still keeping watch and Peter was asleep. Jack was cuddled up with Prompto, watching a Disney movie on his phone, but the older boy looked perplexed and frustrated.

"You all right, Prompto?" Bruce asked, crouching down beside them.

Prompto looked at him. "I don't understand the purpose of the video," he said, his tone flat as always but still managing to convey the sense that not understanding was a common problem for him.

Bruce sat down all the way, trying to figure out how to explain movies to someone who'd apparently never seen one. "It's for entertainment. To have fun, or...just to relax and enjoy the storytelling for an hour or two. You watch other people having adventures and learning things and growing more mature, and sometimes it can help you learn things and grow more mature as well."

Prompto looked at the screen, then back at Bruce. "These are...representations of people who never existed?"

"Er...well, many movies, including this one, are fictional. The filmmakers created the characters, the fictional people, as tools to tell the story they wanted to share."

Prompto considered this. "Are movies similar to 'literature'?"

Bruce blinked in surprise. "Yes. Movies are like literature in a visual form."

Prompto's eyes widened. "Oh." He looked at the movie again, then at Bruce. "This is 'lit class'?"

Bruce chuckled. "We can analyze it later, but for now, just relax and enjoy it."

"Yes."

Bruce turned to John and signed, _"You don't have to stay up all night. Make Peter have a turn so you can sleep."_

_"I want to keep babies safe."_

_"Okay. Just remember that you're my baby, too, and I want to keep you safe."_ Moving slowly to telegraph his movements, he leaned to kiss John's hair.

When he got up, he realized that Prompto was looking at him intently, eyes on his hands. "Jack," Bruce said, "teach Prompto some more sign language."

"Pompo, you want to do hand words?" Jack asked, absently signing key words as he spoke.

"Yes, please."

"Okay! This is 'monkey,' like Abu, see?" the younger boy said, making the sign for 'monkey' and then pointing to the character on the screen. Prompto copied obediently. "An' this is 'brother,' I got two bird brothers, see? Johnny an' Peta. I got _more_ brothers, but they're not birds like us, haha!"

Bruce reluctantly left them and got back to work.

o.o.o

When his shift ended, he returned to the dressing room and found two of the boys asleep, Jack curled up contentedly. John was wrapped around him, face troubled even in sleep. Peter was on watch, passing the time by having a multilingual conversation with Prompto. _"I miss Jason._ I lub Jjason, he my ggood-- my.... _He is big me."_

_"I want Master,"_ Prompto signed carefully.

Bruce nearly choked. "Who is 'Master'?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

"Cor. He didn't know the hand word for 'commanding officer.' And Cor says he's not my commanding officer."

"...Just call him 'Cor,' " Bruce said. "It's short enough for a beginner to fingerspell. How _do_ you spell it, by the way?"

"C-O-R."

"All right. This is 'C,' this is 'O,' and this is 'R.' _C-O-R."_

_"Cor,"_ Prompto repeated. Bruce didn't like his almost reverent expression. Stockholm Syndrome, perhaps. _"I want Cor, please."_ He signed it wistfully, as if it was more a desire than a request.

"We'll take care of you, Prompto." Bruce woke the children, gathered their things, and paid Vesta when she caught them on their way out. They exited through the kitchen so that Bruce could slip some things into his pockets from the pile of unused food that was waiting to be taken out to the dumpster.

They made their way to the warehouse, where Bruce hung up the laundry to dry and rooted through the clothes stash for an outfit for Prompto. His own clothes were too big for the teen and John's were too small, so there weren't many options. "We'll get you some things when we go shopping tomorrow."

Prompto, who was hovering unhappily by his plants, nodded.

"Come over here and get some sleep, Prompto. The plants will be all right."

The boy came over, but then looked around in mild confusion. "Where do I put the fake eyes?"

There was a long pause as Bruce tried to make sure his voice would come out sounding fairly normal. "...........Where do you usually put them?"

"In the bathroom. Cor says it's not good to sleep in them."

Oh. "You wear contacts?"

Prompto looked at him.

"Let me see."

Upon closer inspection, he realized that the boy was indeed wearing colored contacts. "Are they prescription?"

"...I don't understand."

"Do you need them to see better, or do they just make your eyes look a different color without changing your vision?"

"Oh. Yes, they correct my vision."

Damn. Bruce didn't have contact solution, and it wasn't safe to store contact lenses in anything else. The best he could do was have Prompto put the contacts in salt water, but he wouldn't be able to wear them again until they were disinfected, which would be after breakfast tomorrow at the earliest.

Worries about how to deal with that flew out of Bruce's head when Prompto raised his face after taking out the contacts and revealed his true eye color. Only the fact that Bruce's best friend was Superman stopped him from exclaiming in shock at the soft red glow.

Maybe metas existed in this world after all. "...Do you have any special abilities, Prompto? Can you do things that ordinary humans can't do?"

"I'm an MT unit," Prompto said cautiously, like the question didn't make sense to him.

Bruce felt like kicking himself. Prompto had _told_ him he was an MT unit earlier. Whatever exactly the hell MTs were and whatever else they could do, apparently they really did have red eyes, it wasn't just a function of their armor. It made the problem of corrective lenses even more urgent, since Bruce couldn't let this kid walk around the city broadcasting that he was an enemy soldier.

"Tomorrow's problem," Bruce abruptly decided. It was late and he needed all the sleep he could get if he was going to get the children to the soup kitchen in time for breakfast.

The birds once again chose their favorite comfort song (Bruce didn't have enough books for bedtime stories, so he opted to sing to them every night instead). Peter and Jack went right to sleep during the slow rendition of "La Vie en rose;" John, who had first watch, stood up to avoid nodding off as well.

Prompto watched Bruce, spellbound. When the song came to a close, he said breathlessly, "It's like music, but without any instruments."

"Singing _is_ music. You just make it with your voice instead of instruments."

"Oh."

"I can sing you one more, but then you have to go to sleep."

"Yes. Yes, please."

Bruce sang "Over the Rainbow," then tucked Prompto into the nest and smoothed a hand over his soft yellow hair. He looked at John, who had settled protectively close. _"I love you."_

John actually responded in kind this time. _"Love you, too."_

Bruce smiled. _"Thank you,"_ he replied sincerely. He handed over his phone and then went to sleep himself.

TBC

A/N: Wow, contact lenses are really finicky and delicate things. o.O (I wear glasses, not contacts.) I'd had no idea you can't just store them in plain water; that messes up my plans a bit for the next chapter. X'D

I don't know anything about plants. I typed variations of "potted plant yellow flowers" into a search engine, and jessamine was the closest match....

I work in a public library, so that's why my fics tend to talk up how amazing public libraries are. XD Seriously, they have [_so many_ resources besides just books](https://raberbagirl.tumblr.com/post/155791641470/support-public-libraries).

Though, gosh; the library I used to work at was so freaking LOUD, it was frustrating. Conversing in a reasonable tone is one thing, but people would bellow as if they were across the room instead of next to each other, play music or videos without using headphones, let their kids literally run around screaming.... Like geez, people; you don't have to be silent, but show some basic courtesy to the other people using the library, at least....

As far as updates go: I'm specifically prioritizing _Gifts From the Sea_ for my daily word count goal, but I'm trying to get creative about finding different bits of time to work on my FF15 fics, which I'm more inspired for. Right now, this one and another MT-Prompto fic inspired by PWS are the strongest, and I also need to finish my ABO AU and the "Cor's smoothie" parallel fic. This first chapter was much longer than my usual ones, I have no idea if future chapters will be of a similar length or revert back to my 2,200-word average. I guess my point is that I'm working hard on this fic but have no idea how often updates will be. I'm aiming for a medium-length work of maybe four or five chapters, though that's about how long GFtS was supposed to be, too, and GFtS is now over twenty....


	2. Chapter 2.1

**_[Shelter]_ ** **, a Batman / Final Fantasy XV crossover fanfic by Raberba girl**

**Chapter 2.1 (rough draft)**

A/N: Bah; I'm used to writing a first draft, reading through it a couple of times to fix minor mistakes and tweak the construction and stuff, then posting. It's weird having a fic like this that needs much more intensive editing before it's presentable. X''D

o.o.o

Bruce had once had a dream, while sleeping off fear gas poisoning, about being forced to give up his little birds to foster care. Instead of thriving better with guardians who weren't alternate universe counterparts of their abuser, they had been misunderstood, neglected, and hurt by people who could never love them like Bruce did. By the end of the dream, Jack had been taken away, Peter was forever out of reach, and John was dead.

Bruce had been having similar nightmares ever since being dragged to Insomnia. He woke up in a cold sweat and was deeply relieved to find John asleep nearby. The younger birds were playing together and Prompto was mournfully watching his plants again.

Bruce sighed and rubbed his face for a minute, trying to throw off the lingering effects of the nightmare, then hauled himself to his feet, heading over to his newest young acquisition. "Here," he said, "you can give them some water."

"Thank you," Prompto said immediately, taking the bottle and tipping it over the soil in his careful way.

Bruce found the bag of food he'd taken from the club. "Who wants breakfast?"

The birds flocked around as eagerly as usual, but Prompto looked at the potato wedges Bruce offered him in trepidation. "I'm sorry they're stale," Bruce said. "We don't have much money, which means it can be difficult to obtain food."

"...."

"You don't have to eat right now, but you will when we go to the soup kitchen a little later." Prompto simply looked at him, still a little wide-eyed. "Would you like to have one of these, or would you rather wait 'til we reach the soup kitchen?" He showed the boy the three different flavors of protein bars.

"I...I like soup."

"Oh - it doesn't mean they serve soup for every meal, it's a term for a charity that provides hot meals to people with food insecurity."

Prompto stared at him.

"...Well," Bruce finally said, "I'll leave this out, and if you'd rather have something else, hopefully the soup kitchen has something you'd like."

"I...like soup," Prompto said helplessly. "I'm not very skilled at eating yet."

"...All right," Bruce said quietly. "That's okay."

John was awake by then, looking tired as Peter groomed his hair and Jack lovingly nuzzled into him. "How are you feeling, chum?" Bruce asked.

_"I want to go home. I want [big chirp-chirp] and Grandpa. And Titus."_

Bruce swallowed. "I'm trying, John. I want to be home as much as you do." Unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do at this end, especially when survival and childcare took up so much of his time. At this point, it was more likely someone from Prime Earth would find them than they'd be able to get back themselves.

The food didn't take long to consume, and Bruce pondered what to do about Prompto's eyes as he packed what they'd need for the day. Getting him some sunglasses before breakfast would be ideal, but he was torn between leaving all the children unattended at the warehouse while he obtained a pair, or bringing them all with him and risking danger if the teen wasn't able to keep his eyes hidden well enough.

"All right. Here's what we're going to do. Prompto, are you comfortable with me carrying you on my back for a while?"

The boy looked at him.

"...I'm going to need a yes or a no. Will you let me carry you on my back, or do you not want to be carried?"

"Yes?"

Bruce exhaled, then crouched down in front of the boy, facing away from him. "Climb on." It was very awkward, since riding piggyback was evidently a completely foreign concept to Prompto, but they eventually managed it. "Wrap your legs around my waist, you'll have to hold on by yourself whenever I need my hands free." Bruce, standing now, looked at the curiously-watching birds and signed, _"What is Prompto feeling right now? Does he not like being so close to me?"_

They studied the boy's body language, then reported that he was very confused but a little bit curious.

"All right," Bruce said in relief. "Now, Prompto, once we get down to the street, I'm going to need you to set your face against my back or shoulder and keep your eyes closed. Don't open your eyes until I tell you to, all right? We're going to pretend that you're very sleepy and don't want to walk on your own, and that will give you an excuse to hide your eyes until we get you some sunglasses. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Prompto said, more uncertainly than Bruce had been hoping for.

"If anyone asks you anything, just say 'I'm tired.' Or don't say anything at all, just turn your head away like you'd rather sleep than talk. Can you do that?"

"I'm...tired?"

Okay. Acting skills: zero. Good to know. "Or maybe 'Leave me alone.' Try that instead; if anyone says something to you before you have your glasses, say 'Leave me alone.' Try that."

"Leave me alone."

Better. The teen sounded rude without even trying (Bruce could practically _feel_ Prompto's lingering confusion, but only because he was more familiar with the boy than a stranger would be). "Good. It won't be for long, just until I can get your sunglasses. Now close your eyes and hide your face against my back or shoulder. And you can relax, you don't have to cling so tight when I'm holding onto you. I won't let you fall."

They walked to the closest convenience store. Prompto was perfect, clinging silently to Bruce's back, but it was a bit nerve-wracking trying to get the younger children to stop grabbing junk food off the shelves and chatting with random people. Bruce finally found a suitable pair of mirrored sunglasses and hurried to pay for them.

"Got your hands full, huh," the cashier chuckled as he rang them up.

"Yeah, one of them wouldn't get out of bed and three of them have _too_ much energy," Bruce replied with a strained smile, barely even having to act. "You doing okay there, buddy?" he asked, gently jostling Prompto.

"Leave me alone."

Bruce had to fight not to burst into laughter at the slightly misaimed attempt to follow instructions. "Okay, kiddo," he choked out, then took a deep breath to try to calm the unexpected burst of mirth. He really did love kids. "Johnny, could you please grab the bag for me, chum?"

"I got it I got it!" Jack yelled, flinging himself at the counter and scrabbling for the plastic bag to drag it closer.

"Jack, John is taller than you, let him--"

The sunglasses clattered to the floor. Peter picked them up and put them on, then looked around with a hand on his hip, looking remarkably like his older self for a moment.

"Daddy, I needa ppee!" Jack piped up.

Once they were all squeezed in the bathroom, Bruce let Prompto down so he could put the sunglasses on.

"Daddy, why do' Pompo have the eyes?" Jack asked.

"You know how Starfire has unusual green eyes?"

"Kowiii!"

"Yes, Kori. Back home, no one bothers her for having strange eyes, but this is a different world with different circumstances."

He got all three birds' attention and started signing, since he knew John in particular perceived it better than spoken language. _"Listen, this is important. There is nothing wrong with Prompto, but some people might think his red eyes are scary. If people see his red eyes, they might get scared and hurt him. It's very important that we pretend he has blue eyes, all right? If we're not alone, then he has to wear either contacts or sunglasses so he will be safe. Right now, his contacts are dirty, so he's wearing sunglasses. If anyone asks, what color are his eyes?"_

_"Red!"_

_"No."_

_"Blue~!"_

_"Yes. Prompto's eyes are blue. All right?"_

The birds acknowledged, and Bruce straightened up. "All right. Soup kitchen."

o.o.o

Bruce made sure to include oatmeal with breakfast and slip a container of applesauce into his pocket. "All right, Prompto," he said when they were settling down to eat, "I got this for you."

Prompto stared at the little disposable bowl and went pale. "It's rice pudding."

"No, it's oatmeal. It's less sweet than rice pudding. Here, take a bite."

Prompto's movements were slow and reluctant as he grasped the spork and scooped a bit of white goop onto it. He raised it, closed his mouth on it, then swallowed, grimacing. After a long moment, he reached for another sporkful and repeated the process.

He looked so miserable, gulping after every bite, that Bruce finally caved. "Okay, obviously you don't like it," he said, moving the oatmeal over to the birds. "Try the applesauce."

Prompto had a much easier time with that, but it made for a pretty inadequate meal. Bruce broke off a tiny piece of sausage and handed it over. "Try that. You have to chew it before you swallow."

"Yes."

Prompto put it in his mouth and awkwardly worked his teeth. He panted a little after he swallowed.

"How was that?"

"It would...taste good...if it was soup."

The corner of Bruce's mouth twitched as he was caught between sympathy and amusement. "I'm sorry it's not soup, kiddo. Can you manage some more?"

"Yes...."

Bruce fed the boy as much as he seemed able to tolerate, occasionally redirecting the birds whenever they got too rowdy. There were no leftovers again, and Bruce sighed as he straightened up. "Let's go shopping."

He was glad he'd gotten paid the night before, because there was a lot to get and not all of it was available at thrift shops. Prompto needed shoes and clothes, a toothbrush, contact solution, and a hat to hide his unusually bright hair. He was eventually going to need new contacts as well, but money was already getting tight again and Bruce didn't want to worry about that bridge before they came to it.

"All right. Time for the library."

After Bruce's second turn on the computer, he noticed that Prompto had taken one of the magazines and was staring at the front cover, which had a photo of the royals making a public appearance. "This caught your interest?"

"It's Noctis," Prompto said. So the Noctis he'd mentioned earlier _had_ been the prince. Damn. That meant the royal family was in on the keeping-innocent-teenagers-captive thing.

Bruce gently pulled the magazine away. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Prompto." Prompto looked at him. "Here, why don't you read this one instead?" Bruce suggested, handing over an issue of a children's magazine. Prompto obediently took it and started reading from the beginning, including the table of contents and copyright information.

_"Daddy, I'm boooored,"_ Jack whined.

"Did you read the books I gave you?"

_"Finished books! Boring movies!"_

Bruce tapped at his own phone until he'd pulled up a chess game, then handed it over. Jack eyed it for a while, probably trying to decide whether it'd be more fun to play the game or continue being a brat.

It occurred to Bruce that maybe the boy wanted some attention. "Why don't you sit in my lap for a while as you play?" he suggested.

Jack was reluctant at first, but once he was settled, he seemed happy to be in his father's arms with an intellectual challenge to work on. Bruce looked over at the other boys. John was asleep; Peter was sprawled on top of him, watching the other library patrons. "Peter, do you want me to find some more books for you before I get on the computer again?"

Peter studied him for a while. _"You're tired."_

"I'm all right, Peter. I want to take care of you and your brothers."

_"Tired like John. In the past. With Bad Laugh Man."_

Bruce wasn't sure what to say to that. While he had been the birds' primary caretaker from the moment he'd picked up their leashes, he'd always had the support of his family, friends, and resources. These awful weeks in Insomnia were the first time he'd struggled to care for the children alone while he himself was suffering and felt helpless. _"I'm older and more experienced than John. I won't let anything bad happen to you."_

_"I don't want anything bad to happen to YOU."_

_"...Thank you. You're very kind."_

Peter got up and hugged him. Jack started to twitter inquiringly, and Bruce hushed him so as not to disturb John and the other patrons. "He's just trying to make me feel better, Jack. I love you both."

TBC

A/N: Some of you might recognize Bruce's nightmare....

Chapter 2 covers an entire in-universe day and was getting too long, so I split it into three parts. I'll post chapter 2.2 in a few days; 2.3 is about half-written. Chapter 3 is when Cor finally shows up. :)

By the way, thank you for all the reviews! I didn't think many people would read this since it's such a weird crossover, so it makes me really happy that so many people gave it a chance and actually seemed to enjoy it. :')


	3. Chapter 2.2

**_[Shelter]_ ** **, a Batman / Final Fantasy XV crossover fanfic by Raberba girl**

**Chapter 2.2 (rough draft)**

**(Hi Lithos, just a heads up** ; I figure that eventually in PWS, Prompto's gonna find out that usually not all the words on the cover of a book belong to the title, but I kind of jumped the gun and mentioned it here.... Feel free to skip that part, it's when Bruce is doing schoolwork with the kids in the library! Specifically, when they finish their backgammon break and start doing science. It's over by the time they're talking about library books that get withdrawn when they become too damaged to keep circulating.)

o.o.o

Once Bruce had used up all his computer time for the day, he took the kids to the ongoing used book sale to see if there was anything educational for Prompto. They didn't have the sort of general text he was looking for, but he did find a children's book about natural processes, which he bought for a quarter-crown. They went back upstairs and Bruce went through the shelves, handing the boys books to carry as he went. Then they all settled at a table and he got out the rest of his children's makeshift schoolwork.

"Ss'choo'~! _I like school!"_

"I'm glad to hear it, Peter."

_"I hate school."_

"Sorry, John." Bruce passed out the handwriting worksheets he'd already prepared using paper from half-empty notebooks he'd scavenged out of a school's recycling bin. While the boys were working on that, he created more sheets for the next day and some handwritten math worksheets. Since he had no idea how much math Prompto knew, he decided to use the textbooks he'd pulled to test the boy's skill level.

"All right, so what I want you to do is look at the addition and subtraction questions on this page and write the answers here on this sheet of paper. If you're not sure what the answer is for any of them, just try your best."

"Yes." The boy began writing the correct answers down so rapidly that it was clear he already had a mastery of basic addition and subtraction, and Bruce stopped him.

"All right. I'm going to guess that you know multiplication and division, too, but I'd like to confirm. Here-- You don't have to write anything down, just say the answer out loud for each question I tap on."

Prompto proved that he did, indeed, have no trouble with multiplication and division, either. Bruce gave him some questions with four- and five-digit numbers, and his eyes widened when Prompto solved them almost as quickly as the basic ones, as if he knew the answers simply by looking at them.

"All right.... Let's try some equations. Do you know how to do these?"

"Yes."

"All right, we'll skip the beginner ones, then."

Prompto started writing down the answers to the intermediate level equations just as rapidly as he had for the multiplication and division questions. Bruce caught his breath a little and he stopped the boy again. "Let me look at these for a minute...." Although he could do equations of this level in his head as well, he couldn't do it as quickly as Prompto, especially when he was looking at the page upside-down. He picked up the paper and studied it for a minute. The answers were all correct. "Let's try the harder ones...."

As it turned out, Prompto knew the answers to every single math question he was presented with just by looking.

Bruce sat back and gazed at this brilliant child for a minute. Prompto stared back. "I have...a mathematical element," he finally offered, a little timidly. "I don't know how to show my work."

"Ah." Maybe if this was real school, Bruce would have Prompto try to learn the processes and concepts behind the questions, but for now, the boy could do math at a level far higher than he'd ever need for mundane tasks, and they needed to prioritize. "Don't worry about it for now. You did well knowing all those correct answers. You can take a break while I work with the other boys, all right?"

"Yes."

After the kids finished their math work, Bruce handed out their reading assignments. It was a struggle to get John to focus on the beginner book Bruce had picked out for him even though it was about elephants. Bruce had to use his knife as a bribe, passing it under the table so the staff and other patrons wouldn't see it. Peter and Jack were more cooperatively working through books with higher word counts.

Once John had finished his book and Bruce stopped him from throwing it, the boy was allowed to draw for a while as Peter and Jack had their turns working on pronunciation and analysis.

Prompto had the same confused, frustrated look on his face that he had when watching _Aladdin_ the night before. "Have you had lit class before?" Bruce asked, remembering what the boy had said then.

"Yes."

"Have you ever been to school?" It seemed strange that Prompto knew what 'lit class' was when he was ignorant about so many other, more basic things.

There was a bit of hesitation, then the boy answered, "Noctis goes to school. I go to where Ignis lives, and Gladio took me to the room where my close-combat abilities were tested to do lit class. I didn't know that was school, but they called it that when they gave me the schedule."

...Why did every request for background information just make things more confusing?

Bruce decided not to pursue that line of questioning and said instead, "Why don't you read this out loud, starting from the first new paragraph on the page."

Prompto proved that he could read quickly without stumbling, but his vocabulary seemed to be lacking, judging by the words he mispronounced according to the way they were spelled. When Bruce stopped him after a few paragraphs and asked him to explain what he had just read, the boy hesitated for a while, his expression distressed and frustrated. He finally offered, "The two characters are making plans to...disobey orders. And...acquire 'sodas.' "

"...Do you know what 'ditching school' means?"

More hesitation. "A ditch is a long, narrow trench in the ground. School is...where Noctis goes for several hours every day. He always wears his blue clothes with the string around his neck."

"School is where people go to get an education, to learn about things like math and science and literature."

"Oh."

" 'Ditching school' or 'ditching class' is an expression. It's what students say when they're supposed to go to school but instead go somewhere else to do something they think is more interesting."

Prompto considered this.

"I'll be right back." Bruce soon returned with a book of idiom explanations for non-native speakers, which he handed to Prompto. "Does this look like it might be useful?"

The boy started, as he always did, with the title page and copyright information, but eventually made his way to the first page of the book. "You can skip the introduction," Bruce said.

"Oh...." Prompto reluctantly turned past the introduction and started to read the first set of idioms. After a minute, his eyes widened. "These are...explanations. For - figures of speech?"

"Yes. Does this book seem like it might be helpful?"

Prompto's eyes had gone wide, and he held the book closer. "Yes," he said breathlessly. "Yes."

"All right. Why don't you read that instead of the story, then."

"Yes. Thank you."

The younger boys had gotten a little rowdy by then, so as Prompto read through the book of idioms, Bruce had the birds play a modified game of backgammon, using paper he'd drawn the board marks on and various small objects for pieces. Jack won, and Bruce had to shush his triumphant crow and Peter's annoyed exclamation.

Bruce put the backgammon paper away and told Prompto to stop reading. When the man tugged over the book he had just bought, Prompto stared at it in surprise. "Something wrong?"

"It's... _Wonderful World: A Children’s First Book of Eos Primoris Cognoscentia_."

The corner of Bruce's mouth twitched in fond amusement at the way Prompto had said the last two words as if they were part of the title. "Primoris Cognoscentia is the author. The title is _Wonderful World: A Children’s First Book of Eos_ , and Primoris Cognoscentia is the name of the person who wrote the book."

Prompto's eyes widened. "Oh." There was a pause, then he said softly, "It's damaged." He very gently touched the book's scuff marks and peeling corners, looking regretful.

"It was a library book. Library books get handled by so many people over a comparatively short period of time that they wear out faster than most privately-owned books do. This one is privately-owned now, but I bought it used from the library because that's all I can afford at the moment." Bruce thought bitterly of the manor's library filled with valuable and well-cared for editions.

Prompto looked at him, then back at the book. "It's supposed to be damaged?" he finally asked.

"Not _supposed_ to be, but it's inevitable with most library books. It means that a lot of people found it useful. The library staff probably replaced it with a fresh copy when it got too worn out to keep circulating."

"Oh."

"All right, let's get started."

Bruce picked a topic out of the book that the birds weren't familiar with. Prompto seemed to be, but he still had plenty of questions after Bruce had gone over the chapter. Bruce had to stop answering them when he saw how antsy the younger boys were getting, and that seemed as good a time as any to pack up. "All right, we're done here. Let's go outside and have something to eat."

Prompto had a difficult time with the protein bar, and Bruce had to tell him to take smaller bites and coach his chewing. Even so, the boy started looking sick after a while. Bruce repressed a sigh as he looked at how much of the bar was still left and wrapped it up to save for later.

Prompto seemed to have _absolutely no idea_ how to play, which was not surprising but still painful to watch. He looked confused even after Jack's bossy instructions, and Bruce couldn't tell if it was because the instructions didn't make sense to the older boy or if Prompto was having trouble understanding the child's accent. "Why don't you just play tag," Bruce suggested.

"Noooo," Jack whined, even as Peter laughed like a supervillain. Jack, being the youngest and lacking Tim's training, was the slowest of his brothers.

"Or ring-a-round the rosie? Duck, duck, goose?"

"UCK UCK OOSSE!!" Peter shrieked in delight. It wasn't very fun with only three players, and it had been a while since the child had had more than just his two bird brothers to play with.

Bruce explained the rules to Prompto and struggled to answer his questions about the purpose of the exercise and consequences for failure, but after a couple of rounds, the boy seemed to get it. He still looked a bit confused, but his eyes were bright and interested as he watched the birds carefully.

Even with four players, the fun of the game didn't last very long; it was really best with a larger group of children. When the activity started to degenerate, the birds tugged Prompto over to the playground equipment to teach him how to use it, and Bruce started going through a series of kata. He considered asking Prompto to spar with him, but soon discarded the idea since they didn't have any protective gear.

It would have been really nice to have an opponent, though.... Although the birds could escape average assailants and had their Monsterbird instincts to fall back on in an emergency, they were still only children (who hadn't been raised in a cult of assassins or a super-soldier program) and wouldn't pose much of a challenge for Batman.

After a while, Jack wandered over and asked, _"You're practicing?"_

"Yes. Do you want to help?"

Jack chirped and hopped up and down, so Bruce got down on the ground to do push-ups with the child sitting on his back. The other birds noticed and came running over, with a confused Prompto trailing in their wake.

"Wait--" Bruce groaned and struggled to keep holding himself up when John and Peter sat on him as well. "Don't all plop down at the same time...."

Although he'd been trying to keep up with at least a bit of training in Insomnia, he was still comparatively out of shape and had to put a lot of effort into continuing the pushups with all the added weight. Prompto knelt down and stared. "...Am I supposed to sit on you?"

"No," Bruce gasped out, nearly collapsing at his sudden burst of amusement. "No room." Even if there had been, he couldn't take a teenager's weight in addition to that of all three birds. Maybe under different circumstances, but not now.

"Oh." Prompto continued to stare as Bruce managed a few more pushups. "Are you in pain?" he finally asked.

Bruce did collapse that time, chuckling into the ground as the children whistled loudly in disappointment. "I'm fine, I just...need to catch my breath...."

By the time he'd nudged the kids off and sat up, he was charmed to find that Prompto was anxiously offering him a water bottle. "Thank you."

"Yes." The boy then frowned and tilted his head as if unsatisfied with his own response.

TBC

A/N: (In _Poor Wayfaring Stranger_ , the phrase used during the math test scene was "show your working," which I assume is British?? Since FF15 was created by Japanese developers and takes place in a fantasy world, I figure there's no default language other than possibly Japanese and/or Latin or else a completely made-up language, so for this fic, since it's written in American English, I used the term "show your work" instead. This goes for other turns of phrase as well, but that one was the most blatant.)

Just to clarify, not all withdrawn library books get replaced. If they're in bad condition but circulate well, they'll get replaced (unless they're out of print), but if they're being withdrawn because no one checked them out for a while, they don't get replaced. :( If there's a book you want to stay on library shelves so that it will be available for other people to read, check it out yourself to boost its stats, even if you don't actually read it!

I went to the trouble of posting another installment in the crippled continuation of TBWS, then ended up not even using the scene here that prompted me to do so. X''D (Originally, I had Bruce not being able to handle the weight of all three birds at once, and when he told John to get off, Johnny pouted and was like, "Fine, then throw me off a building instead," and Bruce went into a mental tangent about John's ridiculous favorite game back home. I included the full excised bit at the end of the sequence I recently posted in the TBWS crippled continuation. Then I actually went and looked up some stats and did a bunch of guesstimated math and decided that maybe Bruce can handle all three kids after all, even in his weakened state.)


	4. Chapter 2.3

**_[Shelter]_ ** **, a Batman / Final Fantasy XV crossover fanfic by Raberba girl**

**Chapter 2.3 (rough draft)**

A/N: FF15 fans who don't know anything about DC Comics - Robin was created in 1940 when no one in the industry was thinking about stuff like child endangerment, and soon underage superheroes started cropping up everywhere because they sell comics. As time passed and readers started getting more savvy, there have been attempts to soften the idea of what are basically child soldiers doing battle with violent criminals and murderous psychopaths, but there's only so much you can do without some serious suspension of disbelief. X'''D

o.o.o

They left for the warehouse soon after that. Bruce woke up from his nap to find John nestled in his arms and Prompto over by the plants again, talking to the younger boys. The teen was taking a photograph of Peter as Jack praised him effusively.

Bruce laid a soft kiss on John's temple and then stretched, getting up to wander over to the other children. "Daddy, llook, Pompo is a good boy, take pictures!"

"I see. Thank you for sharing your phone, Jack."

Prompto looked up at him. "Can the one with the orange and green hair photosynthesize?"

Bruce blinked. "What?"

Prompto suddenly looked uncertain. "His hair...looks like the plant, and it photosynthesizes...and they look like humans but they sound like birds, so I thought maybe...."

Bruce looked from Peter's orange and green hair to the red and green plant, suddenly realizing how similar their coloring looked. His lips twitched in amusement. "No, Peter can't photosynthesize."

"Oh."

_"Hungry,"_ Peter signed. Bruce fetched out the remains of Prompto's lunch and tried to split it between the two boys, but Prompto made his hurt puppy expression again. After a single tiny bite, Bruce gave up and passed the rest of his share to Jack, but the youngest boy was much more interested in his phone and only took one nibble. Peter finally grabbed the rest of the protein bar and ate it. By that time, Bruce was just glad it wouldn't go to waste.

"May I see the pictures you boys took?" He scrolled through the snapshots, listening to Jack's running commentary about each one.

The difference in style was recognizable. Most of Jack's photos were wider in scope and had a bit of storytelling to them: a view out the window with a grungy pedestrian in the lower left corner; Bruce and John tucked together in their nest of bedding; Peter tracing a finger over empty wrappers with a longing look on his face. Prompto's photos tended to be sensory closeups: the sparkle of sunlight reflecting through a water bottle; Jack's signing hands; a spiderweb; the portion of Peter's hair that transitioned from Joker green to his natural ginger. Both young photographers had a good eye, and each photograph was interesting in one way or another.

"These are very good."

"We do a good job," Jack preened. Prompto stared.

"Both you and Jack take good photographs," Bruce clarified.

"Oh." Prompto looked back at the phone, hints of a shy smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

They got ready for the night and left the warehouse. The birds, as usual, headed straight for the little playground where they'd found Prompto, but Prompto himself hesitated at the edge and looked around.

"No one's going to find you here," Bruce assured him, in case he was associating the location with negative memories.

"Oh," Prompto murmured.

John ran back to them, grabbed the older boy's arm, and dragged him over to join the other children in their game.

o.o.o

Since the hat Bruce had gotten for Prompto was a beanie that could hide all his hair, he decided to risk bringing Prompto into the soup kitchen so they could score two meals instead of just one. He was paranoid about them appearing to be together, so he tried to coach the boy on what to do.

"I'll go in first. Wait five minutes and then come in and go straight to the end of the serving line. The main course will be the same for everyone, but there are a few options for sides. You're allowed up to three sides and a drink. You can either pick whatever you like or the first ones that come to hand, but please at least grab _something_. The boys can eat whatever you don't w--"

He stopped because Prompto was looking more and more panicked. "...Never mind. Here, I'll show you where to stand, and you can watch me go through the line."

The soup kitchen, unfortunately, did not serve soup that night. Bruce gritted his teeth as he looked at the lasagna on his tray, thinking of Prompto's aversion to solid food and imagining the boy's dismayed puppy face. He wondered if he could slip into the back and steal some cans of tomato sauce or something. Maybe if he was alone, but...it was already distressing him to leave his little ones unattended outside as night fell.

He got two containers of pesto sauce by hiding one inside the other; the lower container being only half-full meant that not much of the sauce spilled over. Bruce also grabbed some roasted carrots, which could be mashed, and salad because the birds needed vegetables, too. Along with an extra carton of milk, he stole all the bread and fruit he could fit in his sleeves and pockets, the bulkiness hidden under his coat. Dessert was a decently-sized brownie. Maybe Prompto would eat some of the lasagna's cheese and sauce if it was scraped out from between the layers of pasta.

Bruce bagged the food, left the tray to be cleaned, and exited the building without glancing at Prompto hovering in the doorway. Prompto seemed uncertain and anxious, but he did follow Bruce until they were crouched safely out of sight behind the birds' dumpster. Bruce signaled the younger children to stay hidden and passed them some bread and fruit to keep them occupied.

"All right," he said to Prompto, "now that you watched me go through the line, do you have a better idea of what to expect?"

"Y...es...?"

"Do you think you can try it yourself?" _'Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes....'_

Prompto just stared.

"You don't have to talk to anyone. You just get in line, take one of the trays, put a drink and three other food items on the tray, then put the food in this bag and bring it out here. Can you can do that?"

"Y-Yes, sir."

Bruce studied him for a while. Prompto straightened his shoulders and kept staring at him with those hugely effective puppy eyes. Bruce finally deflated. "You don't have to," he said quietly.

Prompto looked contemplative for a moment, then peered at the younger children. Peter and Jack were tussling over some grapes; Peter wrenched them out of his brother's hand and shoved a handful of asparagus at him instead. Jack twittered shrilly and then started to cry. It sounded like his typical crocodile tears at first, but then real tears started to slip down his face. _"Hungry,"_ he signed faintly.

John pushed his share of bread into his smallest brother's hands and then drew his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them and looking resigned. Peter fidgeted guiltily and offered his last grape to Jack, but the little boy didn't eat it, leaning his head on Peter's shoulder instead. _"I want to go home,"_ he signed wearily. Bruce, feeling numb, started dividing up the pasta.

Prompto suddenly stood up and walked away.

Bruce hurriedly rose to his feet as well, taking a different route to spy through a window. Prompto intently watched the people ahead of him in line and got through to the end without trouble. He seemed to struggle a bit when it came to putting messy food in the salvaged paper bag Bruce had given him, and eventually carried out most of the containers the way he carried his plants.

Bruce met him back in the alley, his chest swelling with pride and affection. "Good job," he murmured.

"My performance was adequate?"

"Yes, very. Thank you, Prompto. You did very well, I appreciate it so much."

All four children ended up decently fed that night, and even Bruce only felt somewhat hungry rather than half-starved like usual.

o.o.o

The job hunt didn't go nearly as well. Every establishment Bruce tried turned him away for one reason or another, and around midnight, he finally gave up and sat down on a bench. He felt exhausted and heartsick. If he didn't force himself to lean closer toward the sick and sad feelings, he would feel savagely frustrated instead, and the last thing any of his deeply wounded little boys needed was anger.

Bruce drew in a deep, measured breath, then let it out slowly. He looked at his children. The birds were watching him solemnly; Prompto looked anxious and shaky.

_"They're mean to you,"_ Jack signed.

"They...don't need me. I can't earn any money tonight." The five of them continued watching each other for a while.

Then Peter's stomach growled.

Bruce clenched his teeth. He was _Bruce Wayne_ , the prince of Gotham. He should have a fully-stocked kitchen and well-furnished bedrooms to offer his little ones, safety and security and reassurance that nothing would ever hurt them again. He was supposed to be a protector, a provider, a guardian who fought off evil from the shadows of his city by night and offered resources and opportunities to his people by day.

Instead, he and his most vulnerable children were trapped crawling in the streets of a foreign city and scrounging desperately for whatever scraps of food happened to be kicked their way. Bruce was _done_. No more.

He clenched his teeth and stood up. "Come on."

He set a brisk pace, and when Peter slipped a hand into his, he squeezed it. Fitting that it would be Peter, since Bruce had the sense Jason would be the most approving of (and the most amused by) what he had planned.

He didn't have time to keep a close eye on Insomnia's underworld the way he would have preferred, but he did pick up things here and there. He knew the territories of the major gangs (not that the organized crime of this clean, magic-filled place held a candle to Gotham's, but still) and the most likely locations for in-person illegal transactions to take place. Travel time aside, it didn't take him long to find a building where shifty-looking men were milling around, surrounded by guns and crates.

Here, Bruce was brought up short. If he were alone, it would be quite a simple matter to plan his approach and dive in. However...he had children to think about. Capable as the birds were and despite the parodied uniforms they had worn in the past, none of them were actually Robin, and there was no way he could bring them in with him.

He studied them. Even without a Batsuit, he highly doubted he'd get captured or put out of commission on a low-level mission like this, but making contingency plans was second nature to him. This wasn't Gotham, either, where the birds would have a decent chance of making it back to the manor without his help. What would happen if he somehow wasn't able to return to his little ones as quickly as he intended?

_"Phone battery?"_ he asked silently.

_"73%,"_ Jack replied, suddenly looking far more like an alert, businesslike Tim than his usual childish self.

_"How do you get to the warehouse from here?"_

The birds all looked at each other.

_"97 bus?"_ Peter signed tentatively. Although they would need a transfer or two to get to it, that _was_ the route that would drop them off closest to their temporary home.

_"S-k-y-w-a-r-d,"_ Jack added, naming the street to turn on in order to reach the warehouse.

John pointed, then signed, _"Straight two streets, right, walk a little, the bus stop by the wood wall."_ Those were the directions that would take them to the stop where they'd need to catch their first bus home.

_"Good,"_ Bruce praised. It wasn't enough, but it was better than he'd hoped for, considering that the birds hadn't known ahead of time that they might need to fend for themselves.

He spent some time going over plans with all four boys, making sure they understood what to do. First, they were to hide and wait quietly for him. If he didn't return by sunrise, they were to return to the warehouse. He split the pitiful remainder of his money between them and drilled them until the birds, at least, seemed fairly confident about how to get back.

They were to wait out the day and the next night. If Bruce still hadn't returned by then, they could decide themselves whether to try to hold out longer or seek help from anyone in a law enforcement uniform. If they chose the latter, the birds would likely be taken into foster care, where they might or might not be separated.

Prompto, unfortunately, couldn't go to anyone for help because he was in enemy territory and had no one else to trust. He would have to keep his hair and eyes covered and go to the soup kitchens for food, and the birds might or might not be able to sneak away and check on him. He might have to steal, and it was safest to steal things that were already set out to be discarded. If he ever got sick, he would have little choice but to go to a clinic, but that would put him in danger because his MT modifications would likely be discovered and lead to him being returned to captivity.

Leaving the city and the protection of its Wall was the most dangerous option of all - there were monsters out there strong enough to kill them; they couldn't go alone. If they tried to go at all, they would have to go with a group of adults they could trust. Peter knew best how risky it was to trust strangers; though John and Jack had lived more sheltered lives before their captivity, the Batman Who Laughs had been enough to teach them the danger as well. Leaving the city was only a very last resort.

The birds looked grim and determined as they finalized the plan. Prompto looked on the verge of a panic attack.

"Prompto, listen, it's _extremely_ unlikely that any of this will happen," Bruce said, trying to sound soothing. He cautiously set his hands on the boy's shoulders, and Prompto clutched at him desperately. "This is only in case of a very unlikely emergency. I will come back, all right? There is a 90% chance I will return within a few hours."

Prompto went still. He finally started to calm down a little, though his eyes were still moist and anxious as he looked up at Bruce.

"Do you remember how you felt when you were sitting in that park before I found you?" Bruce murmured. "You probably felt lost and scared, right? And you didn't know what to do?"

"Yes," Prompto whispered. A tear slid down his cheek.

"That's the only reason I'm making this plan with you boys. I fully intend to come back and continue taking care of you all. I just want to make sure that in the _extremely unlikely_ event that I am prevented from doing so, you all are as prepared as you can be to take care of yourselves for a little while. All right? It's just in case of a very unlikely emergency."

"...."

"Prompto? Do you understand?"

"Y-Yes," he quavered.

"Here, I'm going to let you hang onto my phone. Keep it charged; the library will let you use their electrical outlets for free. Even _if_ the worst happens, there's a chance my family or friends will find a way to this world and track my phone. They will find you, and they will take care of you. Let me show you what they look like." He pulled up photos of Dick and the other Bats, and as many Justice League members as he had pictures of.

It sent a pang of grief and homesickness through him to see their faces, though he was distracted a bit by how worried he was about Prompto's distress. "These people are my allies, all right? If you ever see them, you can trust them. If they come, they'll be able to find you if you have my phone. And remember, this is just in an _extremely unlikely emergency_ , all right? There's a 90% chance I will come back within a few hours. And if I don't, if you boys have to go back to the warehouse in the morning, then there's a 99% I will be able to escape and meet you back there before you have to make anymore decisions. All right?"

Prompto swallowed hard. "Yes," he choked out.

"The birds will take care of you. Just follow their lead, all right?"

Prompto looked at the younger children. Peter reached out and laid a reassuring hand on his arm, and John gently hugged him.

"It's okay, Pompo," Jack said confidently. "We take care o' you, okay? Okay, Pompo?"

"Y-Yes."

Bruce gazed at them all for a while longer. Prompto's panic had ratcheted up his own worry, and he had to remind himself that John was the same person who had, in another world, routinely broken out of juvenile detention at age eight in order to track down his parents' killer across the rooftops; who had officially debuted as a crime fighter six months later. That Peter had been learning to look after himself since he could walk, that his older self had survived for months as a homeless orphan in the most dangerous city in the world. That Jack's counterpart had spent years stalking Batman and Robin through Gotham's dark streets, _undetected_ , since age nine; that only a few years later, Tim had been traveling alone overseas to train and had been performing solo missions since his earliest days as Robin.

John, Peter, and Jack themselves had survived the Batman Who Laughs, had used their intelligence and creativity and determination to overcome everything the most evil being in the dark multiverse had thrown at them. They could take care of each other for a day or two. It was highly likely that they wouldn't even _need_ to.

Oh God, they were so young, looking up at him with their gaunt faces and tiny hands and clear blue eyes, still so innocent even after everything they had suffered....

_"B,"_ John signed, slowly and firmly, _"trust me."_

This was Richard John Grayson. Different, younger; but still, at his core, Dick Grayson, the child who had laughed in the face of grief and darkness, the prodigy who flew through shadows and sunlight alike with all the grace and joy of the robin he'd been named for. Whose counterpart understood Bruce better than almost anyone else in the world and could always be relied on.

_"I trust you,"_ Bruce signed back. John smiled.

Then the children hid. Bruce doublechecked the tools he was bringing with him and went to rob some gangsters.

TBC

A/N: The description of the rest of Bruce's night ended up nearly twice as long as I expected it to be, so I saved some of it for next time. X'D I don't know yet whether the next installment will be chapter 2.4 or 3.1.


	5. Chapter 2.4

**_[Shelter]_ ** **, a Batman / Final Fantasy XV crossover fanfic by Raberba girl**

**Chapter 2.4 (rough draft)**

**A/N: Arcis is one of lithos_saeculum's OCs.**

o.o.o

Bruce may not have been wearing a cowl, but he was every inch Batman in the next hour or so.

He took twice the time he needed for recon, just to make extra sure he'd be coming out of this as unscathed as possible. He managed to take out most of the guns first. Attacking the thugs themselves made it clear that Bruce was rusty, but it was still so... _enjoyable_ to finally, FINALLY get a chance to punch some faces.

Maybe that made him a bad person, but he'd _missed_ this, getting to see people making preparations to hurt other people and just _stop_ them, throw all his outrage into _making them stop_ before they could succeed. No city in the world needed more guns or drugs. _Fuck_ these bastards for putting their own greed over the wellbeing of other people.

Bruce finished up and then grabbed a couple of bags stuffed with cash. He surveyed the floor full of groaning or unconscious criminals, taking a moment to admire his handiwork. Then he turned and hurried away, hearing the sound of approaching sirens in the distance.

Normally, Batman would never have even considered taking money from a crime scene for his own gain, but Batman had never before been short the resources to feed four hungry children. Bruce found that he could bend his own rule for a reason like that after all.

His mouth twisted as he imagined the triumphant laughter of his second son. _'Shut up, Jason,'_ he thought wryly, and went to collect his kids.

o.o.o

The buses had stopped running by then, so Bruce found a safe-looking rooftop for them to spend the rest of the night. He had two grapple lines that he'd fashioned over the past few weeks, one for himself and one for his oldest bird, though he kept them both on his own person so the younger kids wouldn't be tempted to scale buildings without his permission. The grapples came in handy sometimes because Insomnia had far fewer fire escapes than Gotham did.

Once Bruce had tossed the hook for him, John could be trusted to climb the building on his own and catch himself in the unlikely event he ever slipped or fell. Though Peter and Jack could climb as well, they weren't as skilled as their professional aerialist brother and wouldn't be as adept at correcting any dangerous mistakes, so Bruce insisted on linking them to himself with rope as they each took their turn. They made it up without incident, then Bruce went back for Prompto.

The teen was staring up at the side of the building. "They climbed."

"John used to be a trapeze artist in the circus," Bruce explained. "His parents started teaching him to fly almost as soon as he could walk. Peter and Jack watch their older siblings all the time and insisted on learning, too."

Prompto's eyes had grown huge. "They can _fly_?" he said breathlessly.

"Well - not literally. It feels like flying, though, when you use wires and momentum to soar through the air, so that's why we call it that."

"I don't understand," Prompto said, still staring up at the roof where John was peering back down at him.

"John is good at swinging on a rope. If he swings high and fast enough, it feels like flying, so we call it 'flying' even though it technically isn't."

Prompto looked at him.

"It's a figure of speech," Bruce tried.

"Oh."

Prompto looked back at John, who signed, _"Come up here! We'll make a nest!"_

"Here, Prompto, I'm going to carry you on my back again. I'll tie you to me as well so that _just in case_ of the _very unlikely_ possibility that there's an accident, you won't fall far and I'll be able to get you to safety."

He made sure to explain what was happening and get consent, but though Prompto seemed confused and tired and a little exasperated (and still a bit starry-eyed whenever he looked up at John), he didn't seem to be as distressed about the idea of being carried up a building as he had at the thought of being left behind to fend for himself. He gripped Bruce tightly on the way up, but when they reached the roof and Bruce was able to see his face again, he found the boy more awestruck than scared, his gaze moving between the stars beyond the Wall's shimmer and the lights of the city stretching out into the distance.

"Are you all right, Prompto?"

"Yes."

Bruce fetched the bags, then got the kids settled. There wasn't much to make a nest out of, just the shelter of a service shed and what little warmth and comfort there was to be had from two towels and shared body heat. Jack opted to climb into Bruce's coat to cuddle with him.

Peter took first watch and Bruce finally fell asleep, curled around his children and making plans for what to do with all his newly-acquired money. They could stock up on food now, get a decent wig and some extra sets of contacts for Prompto, maybe even find a motel to stay in for a while if they could find one that accepted cash....

o.o.o

Bruce woke to blinding morning light. He yawned and tried to stretch without disturbing Jack too much; the little boy grumbled and nestled closer to him. Bruce glanced over at the other birds, who were fast asleep, and at Prompto, who was watching the sunrise in wonder.

"Oh - Prompto, you didn't have to take a turn keeping watch. John and Peter had it handled."

Prompto looked at him. "I...wasn't sleeping, and the one with-- ...And John looked tired, so I...." His voice trailed off.

"That was kind of you," Bruce reassured him. "Just don't ever feel obligated to take a watch shift, Prompto." The only reason he let the birds do it was because they were used to it from their time in captivity and it really helped him out. Prompto looked to be only fourteen or fifteen and didn't have the birds' background, he shouldn't have to be worrying about that sort of thing.

"Oh...."

Bruce waited about fifteen minutes until the other kids started to stir. He let them wake up at their own pace, using the time to hide bits of cash on himself and all four children. The two big bags of money in addition to their usual luggage would call too much attention to them, so he'd have to hide most of it here on the roof and come back for it later. They still had a comparative fortune in their pockets now, more than enough to do some serious shopping. They technically didn't even need to bother with soup kitchens for a while, though Bruce cringed at the thought of skipping out on a bit of extra food when he had spent weeks valuing sustenance more than gold.

"Are we ready to go?"

_"Sleepy,"_ Peter complained.

"You can take a nap back at the warehouse. We have to get there first, kiddo."

o.o.o

It was an off-routine day, since Bruce did indeed decide to skip the soup kitchen and spend the extra time on a longer-than usual shopping trip instead. All three birds got very excited when he offered them ice cream bars. Prompto didn't show any recognition of the food item and at first seemed more interested in the colorful wrapper than in the ice cream itself. When he finally tasted the treat, though, his eyes widened. He stared at it the ice cream bar for a minute, then his eyes lit up and he sucked at it again, more eagerly this time.

"Have you ever had ice cream before, Prompto?" Bruce asked.

He regretted asking when Prompto disengaged from the dessert with some difficulty, obviously eager to keep eating but dutifully answering the question instead. "Is it milkshake?" he asked breathlessly.

He knew what a milkshake was, but not ice cream?? "It's ice cream. They're similar, though. Do you like it?"

"Yes!"

"I'm glad to hear it." He was also glad to have a new addition to the tiny list of things the kid would eat, even if it was junk food.

o.o.o

While they waited for the bus in a nicer area of town, the boys kept themselves occupied teaching Prompto hand games, and Bruce busily made plans in his head. There was no one else at the stop, though a cluster of teenage girls in checkered uniforms was slowly shuffling by, more interested in whatever one of them was showing the others on her phone than in getting to school. They outright paused near the bus stop, and their chatter flowed in and out of the back of Bruce's mind like white noise.

"Kyaaa, so cute!!"

"Have you named him yet?!"

"Oooohhh, the little _blep_...!"

A jingling ringtone started up, then cut off as one of the girls answered, "Mom?"

"Awwww, can we come see him after school, Crystal?"

"Yeah, let me text my mom--"

"I thought Arcis was gonna do it!"

"Wait wait wait, pull up that first picture again so you can send it to my phone."

"Do you have--?"

"*SIGH~* Fiiiine. Yeah, yeah; I will. Tell him to rest up."

"Arcis."

Bruce blinked and looked down. That last bit had been spoken by Prompto, who was staring intently at the schoolgirls. Bruce looked over at them. Most of the girls were still crowded close with their heads bent over their phones, but one of the girls had taken a step away and was holding a separate conversation with whoever had called her. "I know," she was saying at the moment. "I hope they find him, too. Love ya." She hung up, slipped her phone back into her bag, then raised her head and instantly noticed she was being watched. She frowned.

"Prompto, don't stare," Bruce murmured, tapping his shoulder and gesturing for him to face forward again.

The boy was starting to obey when the girl he'd been staring at repeated, "Prompto?"

Prompto looked back at her, and Bruce went tense. All the girls were staring now, and the one who'd spoken peered closer. "Is-- Are you...Prompto?"

"Arcis," Prompto said.

Bruce was getting a very bad feeling about this. "Come on," he said, scooping up his bag and starting to herd the kids away. "The bus is late," he invented, "we might as well get that errand out of the way."

"Wait-- Prompto?!" the girl called after them, sounding a little frantic now. Prompto slowed and looked back at her, so Bruce put an arm around his shoulders to keep him moving.

John tugged at Bruce's shirt and signed urgently, _"What's wrong?"_

"I think people might be looking for us," Bruce explained. "Prompto, was Arcis someone you knew from the place you were before?"

"Yes," Prompto answered. His expression was...odd. Not frightened or tense like Bruce would have assumed; it was almost...expectant.

"Damn. We need to find another bus--" Bruce glimpsed a pair of Crownsguard uniforms and swerved around the corner onto a different street.

_"Bad Laugh Man?"_ Peter asked shakily.

"No, Peter, no, you birds aren't in any danger, okay? They're after Prompto, not you."

"Oh no!" Jack ducked around to Prompto's other side and took his hand protectively.

"There's--" A patrol car turned onto the street. Bruce hastily shoved Prompto behind a building, and the birds rushed to change direction along with them. "Shi-- Shoot. Okay. John--" Bruce gave the boy his grapple line and handed the knife to Jack, knowing that Peter was the best at improvising weapons and would soon be armed as well. "Boys, listen. You need to get back to the warehouse. Jack, you have the maps and bus schedules?"

"Yeah, Daddy."

"Okay. You boys need to go back to the warehouse. Whatever happens, you have to take care of each other. Do you understand?"

_"You fly that way, protect Prompto. We fly this way, protect each other."_

"Yes. Go."

The children scurried out of sight.

With only Prompto left to worry about, Bruce made better time, but it didn't do much good. There seemed to be more and more Crownsguard everywhere he turned, and he could tell they were closing in, recognizing him and the boy as their quarry and keeping in contact with communicators.

Capture had become inevitable, so Bruce stopped looking for an escape and started looking for a defensible position. With his options rapidly narrowing, the best he could do was a parking garage.

"Prompto," Bruce said urgently, grasping the boy's shoulders, "there are several ways to get out of here. Don't take the elevator, or you'll likely end up trapped. You can try the stairs, though it will be hard to escape if pursuers are too close; or you can go up or down the ramps for the cars as long as you avoid getting hit. I'm going to hold them off as best I can, but depending on how many--"

"There they are!"

Out of time. Bruce shoved the boy toward the corner behind him and whirled to face the advancing Crownsguard. There were two approaching, weapons out, and three or four more hurrying toward them from different directions.

Bruce brought his hand down on the side mirror of a car in a precise strike that knocked the appendage off the vehicle. He flung it at the staff-bearer, who successfully blocked, but Bruce had already thrown himself at the man and kicked at the staff, wrenching it out of one of the man's hands before he'd recovered from knocking away the mirror. A swift punch dazed him and Bruce seized the staff, yanking it to both get it out of the man's other hand and fend off the other officer, who'd lashed out.

Bruce whipped the staff around to strike the second guard again, knocked out the first, then whirled back to do the same to the second. He scooped up the second weapon and tossed it behind him, mindful to keep it clear of Prompto. It was a sword, which he was reluctant to wield due to how much more difficult it was to use non-lethally than a staff, but it could serve as a backup weapon if needed.

The other Crownsguard were closer now, shouting, with more on the way, and then the fight began in earnest.

Bruce had downed five guards and wrecked several cars when a voice shouted, "GIVE ME A MINUTE!"

There was a wary pause. Bruce backed away a few steps, not letting his guard down, as his opponents retreated as well and stole tense glances at the newcomer. The guy was young and dressed in civvies, looking like a college kid who'd rolled out of bed ten minutes ago, but he moved like a soldier and he was the only one who'd bothered to glance at Prompto rather than focusing entirely on Bruce. Bruce wasn't sure he liked that.

"Hey," the college kid said, hands up placatingly, voice coaxing. "Why don't we talk for a minute?"

"Unless it's about you all standing aside so I can get my kid out of here - not interested."

The guy blinked, looking slightly taken aback.

"Arcis," Prompto said softly.

The guy's gaze shifted and his mouth curved in a surprisingly warm smile. "Hey, kiddo."

Bruce ground his teeth. "So you're Arcis."

"Yeah, hi. Technically off duty, but my sis-- we got a call saying Marshal Leonis's missing kid had been spotted, so it's kind of all hands on deck." He said 'Marshal Leonis' like it was supposed to mean something, but it only rang a very faint bell for Bruce, like something he ought to recognize but wasn't really important. Someone with a rank like that might have been mentioned in the news.

Bruce was much more concerned about the claim that Prompto was somebody else's kid. It made him furious. "Because apparently it takes the entire Crownsguard to capture a _child_ and drag him back to his abusers, is that it?"

Arcis's eyes widened and he looked genuinely confused. "What?"

"He's already suffered enough," Bruce snapped. "He's not going back to your labs."

"Labs?"

"Don't play dumb. He's a captured enemy soldier decked out in a fucking shock collar, I know what people like you do to people like him."

"....You kidnapped him because you thought you were rescuing him?" Arcis said helplessly.

Now Bruce was the confused one. "He said he escaped. I found him sitting alone in a park."

"What? Promptooo, why'd you run away?!" Arcis said in dismay.

"I-- I didn't run. I went to sleep and then I woke up and I was outside."

_'Wait, what???'_ Bruce didn't dare take his eyes off the Crownsguard to look behind him. "You told me you escaped out the window," he called back.

"Because...because if I went out the door, Arcis would have stopped me. The only other way to get out of the room was the window, so I must have gone out the window. I didn't know I went out the window until I thought about it."

There was a pause. Bruce thought they could all probably benefit from sitting down and hashing out some thorough explanations, but more and more Crownsguard had been gathering as they spoke, and he wondered if this was a stalling tactic. Was Arcis a hostage negotiator or something? Things weren't adding up. "Listen, I--"

A car burst onto their level and screeched to a stop. Two men got out of it, the one with the katana advancing like a wrathful storm as he bellowed, "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY KID."

_'Oh, no you fucking don't,'_ Bruce thought with just as much rage, fully ready to resume battle.

TBC

A/N: Just so you guys know, I do have some ideas for the battle in the next chapter, but I also suck at fight scenes, so we'll see how much of a disaster my attempt at a Batman (in civvies...) vs. Cor the Immortal match ends up being. X''D

I'd kind of headcanoned that Arcis had a sister in middle or high school, then I asked Lithos and apparently he really does have a fifteen-year-old sister! :D I don't know her name or personality, so I tried to limit her screentime here, but I wanted to use her in this fic as a bridge to let Arcis and therefore Cor know that Prompto had been spotted. Unless there's a gag order something, I like to imagine Arcis gushing to his family every night about the marshal's adorable new baby, and also angsting about the mess that must have happened during Prom's disappearance.


	6. Chapter 3.1

**_Shelter_ ** **, a Batman / Final Fantasy XV crossover fanfic by Raberba girl**

**Chapter 3.1 (rough draft)**

A/N: Aahh, I'm so sorry, I did _not_ mean to leave it on a cliffhanger for over two and a half months! I really miss all the free time I had during quarantine; I got overwhelmed again pretty much the minute I had to go back to work. X'''D

Since I still haven't thought of a good title for this fic, I'm just gonna keep it as _Shelter_.

**Again, Arcis is lithos_saeculum's OC, and I'm using breezy-cheezy's visual design for him (see[here](https://breezy-cheezy.tumblr.com/post/189729304013/uuuuuuh-art-dump-for-poor-wayfaring-stranger-by) and [here](https://breezy-cheezy.tumblr.com/post/190264249963/tsuyudeku-friendsmooches-in-b3-or-ariethzack)).**

o.o.o

Bruce could tell immediately that his opponent was _good_ , and every half second's worth of new information proved it more and more. The guy was fast, strong, incredibly skilled, and a master of his weapon. Bruce was at a disadvantage with his recent lack of food and proper training, Batsuit, and tools. The only edge he seemed to have was better experience in taking advantage of the environment and anything that came to hand, and it quickly became clear that without a good enough stroke of luck, he probably wouldn't win this fight head-to-head.

And that was _before_ the guy started teleporting.

"DAMN FUCKING METAS!!" Bruce bellowed, because he was _Done_ with all this alternate universe garbage and the absolute last thing he needed was an extra complication.

He fell back on his usual tactics for dealing with teleporting opponents, and was a little relieved to discover that this particular teleporter was limited to his weapon - he would throw it and instantly reappear farther along the sword's trajectory. The popping sounds and clouds of sparkles helped, too, as did the fact that no one else seemed inclined to join the fight.

Bruce was disarmed at one point and managed to grab the sword he'd saved. Although it was easier to wield against a similar weapon, he was hampered by his unwillingness to use it in a lethal manner, and he soon purposely flung it at his opponent, because it was more trouble than it was worth and at least forcing the other man to knock it aside bought him a second.

" _crow_!"

The birds hadn't gone to the warehouse. _Of course_ they hadn't, because when had Robin ever obeyed Batman when it came to retreating for their own safety?

Bruce spared a glance as soon as he could. He didn't see any of his kids in the direction the crow had come from, but he did see a grapple line. It was dangling invitingly in the open central strip that accommodated a walkway on the ground floor, and Bruce dove for it. He cleared the gap easily and swung in an arc, shifting his leg as if preparing to kick.

Of course, his opponent - Cor, he assumed from context - was skilled enough to be ready for him, so Bruce didn't follow through. Instead, he dropped abruptly and launched off a car to collide with Cor in a full-body tackle, sending them rolling across the floor before coming to a sudden, painful halt against a support pillar.

Bruce was half a second away from punching the man in the face, vaguely aware of Cor's fist about to drive into his gut, when a child's voice screamed urgently, "POMPO SSCARE'!!"

The moment would have cost Bruce if his opponent hadn't been equally distracted. In the corner where they'd left him, Prompto was on his knees, rocking slightly with his hands pressed to his ears, as Arcis and Jack crouched on either side of him. Peter was planted in front of them, snarling as he brandished Bruce's knife in one hand and a broken bottle in the other to warn off the rest of the Crownsguard.

"Prompto," Bruce gasped, a little dismayed to hear Cor echoing the word with the exact same tone of horrified concern. They both scrambled to their feet and rushed over to the little blond. They briefly parted to go around Peter, who glanced at Cor but then returned his attention to the Crownsguard. The officers seemed wary but were keeping their distance, the injured ones drinking glowing liquid from crystalline bottles. Others were reporting license plate numbers to one with a clipboard, which might have had something to do with the fact that the air was no longer ringing with car alarms and some of the vehicles were a little more damaged than Bruce and Cor had left them.

"Kid, hey - what's wrong? Are you hurt?" Cor said urgently, dropping to his knees and yanking Prompto's hands away from his ears. That prompted a thin whine from the boy, whose eyes were squeezed shut as if in pain. The little noise pierced Bruce's heart and re-ignited some of the rage he felt toward Cor.

"Don't _touch_ him like that, what's wrong with you?!" Bruce hissed, knocking the man's hands away.

Cor rounded on him and snarled, "Don't fucking tell me what to do with my kid!"

"He's upset and overstimulated," Bruce ground out, trying to keep his voice low, "and your yelling and manhandling isn't helping _at all_. Give him time to recover."

Cor stared at him like he wanted to murder him, teeth gritted.

"Pompo, it's okay!" Jack coaxed as Arcis rested a hand on Prompto's back. "Daddy stop fighting; look, I got pictures, see?" He turned his eyes to Bruce. "Look, Daddy!"

Both Bruce and Cor stared blankly at the rather impressive shot Jack had captured during their battle.

Jack turned back to Prompto. "Daddy fight bad guys and, and yoooou're goin' to Arkham, bustah!" He pointed at Cor. Bruce didn't bother to point out that Arkham Asylum was meant for criminally insane people, not a jerk who thought he was Bruce's newest kid's dad, and that Arkham didn't exist in this universe, anyway.

"But no one is hurting now, so it's okay, Pompo, me and Petah keep you safe, so you don' have to be scared, okay? You don' have to be scared! You're a good boy."

Jack chattered steadily until Prompto shivered and lifted his head, hands cautiously coming away from his ears. He stared. "...Cor?"

"You okay, kid?" Cor croaked, and Bruce was startled to find the man's eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Yes," Prompto said, and sort of hopefully leaned toward him.

Hands reached out. Bruce's own hands half-raised to knock them away, but Cor's touch on the boy's shoulders was light, almost hesitant. The next moment, Cor was hugging Prompto fiercely and the teen was nestling into him like a baby animal reunited with its mother.

It...hurt. It hurt as much as Bruce's long-ago nightmares of John and Mary Grayson returning to take their boy back. Bruce had lost so many of his children in so many agonizing ways, but he'd never...had to _give them up_ to guardians who loved them as much as he did. Except in his nightmares.

There had been a misunderstanding somewhere. He still had no idea what the MT unit and shock collar mess was about, but it was clear to anyone with eyes that the gruff katana-wielding Crownsguard dearly loved the child in his arms, and that Prompto loved and trusted him just as much. Bruce watched Cor Leonis cradling Prompto like a priceless treasure and thought savagely, _'Fuck you for taking my boy.'_

Never again. This was too painful. Never again would he take a child who could be reclaimed (not that he'd known Prompto could be...). It hurt too much.

...Did it make him a bad person to hope the Thomases never recovered enough to take Duke from him?

(Yes, it did. Dammit.)

Jack hopped into his lap and remarked in cheerful surprise, "Hey Daddy, he is not bad!" He added with his hands, _"He loves Prompto."_

"I can see that," Bruce grumbled. He tightened his arms around the son that _did_ belong to him, and was grateful to feel Peter lean heavily against his back.

Cor's eyes snapped to his. "You're in deep shit," he growled.

Bruce grunted, unimpressed.

"Um," Arcis spoke up. "So. We weren't able to get far before you...arrived, but I don't think he actually meant any harm." He straightened up at the glare Cor leveled at him and added crisply, "Sir."

"Are you angry?" Prompto whispered.

Cor looked startled. "Not at you, kiddo," he was quick to reassure the boy, then glared at Bruce again. "Just at this asshole here. I'll make sure he never hurts you again."

"He didn't hurt me."

"He _kidnapped_ you!"

"What does 'kidnapped' mean?"

"I didn't kidnap him," Bruce snapped. "He was sitting alone in a park, looking like he'd walked barefoot for miles. Apparently he climbed out the window of _your_ house."

"What?" Cor said sharply.

One of the other Crownsguard interrupted tentatively. "Uh, sir?"

" _What_?" Cor said in exasperation.

"We're having a little trouble getting that kid down."

Everyone looked over at where the grapple line was still hanging through the center of the garage, with several Crownsguard gathered near it. John was hanging upside-down, watching Bruce's group. The boy's eyes abruptly turned upward and he kicked off the wall of the upper level, sending him half a meter sideways with the accompanying screech of the hook sliding against the railing it was attached to. There was some cursing from above as whoever had gone upstairs to try to haul up the rope was thwarted.

"What the hell?" Cor muttered, staring at the child fearlessly dangling in midair.

Bruce sighed. He wasn't quite sure what to do - he wanted to gather up his little ones and get out of here, but he also didn't want to leave Prompto when he wasn't fully satisfied that the boy would be in good hands. "I'm gonna go get my kid," he said to buy time, holding Peter's and Jack's hands as stood up.

Cor got to his feet as well, keeping Prompto tucked against his side. " _You_ are being brought in for questioning."

Which wasn't ideal, but Bruce doubted he'd be able to escape with all his children at this point. " _After_ I get my kid." He strode over to the center of the garage, and John started scrambling up the rope when he saw Bruce coming. By the time Bruce leaned over the railing and craned his head up, John was already back on the roof level of the garage, scrambling onto a car and kicking out at the Crownsguard who tried to approach him.

"Get the hell away from my kid!" Bruce shouted up at the officer. Then at his son, "John! We're leaving, come down!" He added in sign language, _"Safe,"_ trying not to let _"sort of"_ manifest in his body language.

John peered down at him for a minute. _"Down?"_ he finally asked.

"Yes," Bruce confirmed. John backed out of sight and drew up the rope. Bruce waited in increasing uneasiness. His only clue about what his son might be doing was the confused expression on the Crownsguard's face. "John, now! Let's go!"

John appeared again, climbing all the way over the railing and giving the hook a testing yank. The rope had been completely wrapped around him in a way that might have seemed haphazard but was actually very calculated. Horror shot through Bruce, and he realized he had been _stupid_ to just assume that John intended to walk down the stairs like a normal person. "RICHARD JOHN GRAYSON, DON'T YOU DARE--!"

Too late (not that John would have listened, anyway). He hopped off his perch, and several Crownsguard yelled in alarm as the child dropped into nothingness.

John expertly unspooled himself, managing to strike a few poses in between kicking off of or away from various Crownsguard who tried to 'rescue' him. There weren't any officers after two or three levels, so John took his time during the rest of the descent, swinging and flipping. He landed on the ground floor, struck one last pose, then looked up at all the gaping faces above him.

This was all Dick's fault, with his freaking 'It has great crossover applications for vigilanteing, B!' corde lisse and aerial silks training, which wild horses couldn't have stopped John from joining as soon as he found out.... John didn't seem to be in pain, but he wouldn't show it when he knew his father disapproved of the activity which caused it. Bruce hoped that John's clothing had been enough to protect him from any significant rope burn.

"Bad, John," Bruce called down, his heart still pounding. "That was bad."

Even as he spoke, one of the nearby Crownsguard was mumbling, "That was _incredible_."

John splayed out one hand, used his other hand to push down all the fingers except the middle one, then raised the result at Bruce.

o.o.o

Bruce told the Insomnians where the warehouse was so that someone could be sent to fetch Prompto's things. It meant the building was no longer safe, but that was all right; Bruce and the birds already carried their few irreplaceable possessions in their pockets, and there was still plenty of money in a different location waiting to be retrieved. If worse came to worst, Batman could always rob some more gangsters.

Bruce gritted his teeth and watched unhappily as Prompto was bundled into the same car as Cor. Then he turned to the Crownsguard who was trying to shove him toward a different vehicle and said, "My children are abuse survivors. They suffered from traumatic restraint and have a difficult time with seat belts."

In response to the term, there were two protesting crows and a "No, Daddy!" from Jack.

A minute later, John was crying, his teeth bared as he clutched a hissing Peter. "Johnny," Bruce said, as gently as he could, "who am I?"

It took a long time for John to answer, and Bruce had to ask a couple more times before the boy finally signed, _"Dad."_

"That's right. I'm your dad. Where is Bad Laugh Man?"

_"Dead."_

"That's right. He's dead. He can't hurt you anymore. I'm not going to hurt you, and I'm not going to let anyone else hurt you."

"Juice bllock," Jack demanded. Over time, Alfred had managed to wean them off ice cream as a reward and replace it with the healthier option of ice cubes made with juice.

"I don't have any juice blocks, Jack, I'm very sorry," Bruce said, trying to hide his frustration.

Arcis asked hesitantly, "Is it usually this much of a production when you try to take them anywhere?"

"Not really," Bruce sighed. He'd bought a decommissioned school bus to add to his 'how to transport the birds without traumatizing them' arsenal. Between that, his stretch limos and motorcycles, and public transportation, they made do, though he still tried to keep the birds in practice with a seat belt trip every few weeks. The boys _had_ gotten better when they were in familiar territory and less stressed. "But I don't have access to my vehicles or even junk food bribes at the moment."

The Crownsguard ended up commandeering a bus. The escorts remained standing and blocked the doors. The Waynes sat on one of the sideways-oriented seats usually reserved for elderly and disabled people, and Arcis sat on the other. As they headed toward the Citadel, Bruce asked the younger man if he was Crownsguard.

"I am, actually," Arcis said, smiling as Jack bounced over to him and curiously poked the mole on his face. "I was off-duty when I got the call, there wasn't enough time to change into my uniform."

"Prompto knows you."

"Yeah.... I'm his night guard - well, the marshal's, technically - and Prompto...has nightmares sometimes." The smile was gone now. "They can get pretty bad. I'll get his dad for him and bring him hot milk, that sort of thing. Guess he started getting comfortable with me."

Bruce was silent for a moment, watching his boys comment on the view out the windows in a mix of bird- and sign language. In addition to the ache at hearing another man being designated Prompto's father, he was trying to reconcile 'night guard' with 'hot milk for nightmares.' "Why is Prompto under guard?"

"...Pretty sure that's classified."

"He said he was an MT unit."

Arcis's eyes flicked briefly toward the civilian driver, then he set his elbow on the windowsill and rested his head on his hand. "And you believed him?"

"I know what color his eyes are under those contacts."

Arcis sighed, then jerked his head indicatively. Bruce gathered the children and they all relocated to the back of the bus, the other Crownsguard shifting to let them pass.

"Most people," Arcis said, his expression hard, "would either freak out or start getting _ideas_ if they realized they had a baby MT on their hands."

"He's a _kid_ ," Bruce growled. "I know you don't know me from Adam, but it's my life's _work_ to protect people, especially children. Whatever was done to Prompto isn't the worst case of abuse I've seen, but it's pretty fucking terrible and I still don't actually know how much you people have to do with it or not."

"You think _we_ hurt him?!"

"He's an enemy soldier. You keep him under guard and his _'dad'_ put a shock collar on him. What am I supposed to think?"

Arcis exhaled. "Look, the marshal hates that collar more than anyone. They actually probably could have had it off by now, it's just...he's friends with-- uh, someone. I know Prompto would never hurt that kid, the marshal knows it, _everyone_ knows it. Everyone who likes Prompto, anyway. It's just...it would be - bad. If he hurt a kid. And we still don't know if he's got any latent programming or whatever. _I_ think if there was any it would have activated by now, but what do I know, I'm just--"

"Noctis," Bruce mused, remembering things Prompto had said and the way he'd looked at that magazine cover. His eyes narrowed. "I can't think of any benevolent reason why you would risk your king's only child getting in close proximity with an enemy soldier who might have latent programming."

"...Right, so I will neither confirm nor deny the identity of Prompto's friend, but from what I hear, it was an accident. Then it was too late, they were already attached."

Bruce thought about this as he watched his kids playing a game with the seats, scrambling into different ones in response to various signals. John was the only one constantly ready to brace himself in case the bus made unexpected movements. "Jack, Peter," Bruce warned, " _always_ hold onto something." He demonstrated. "A bar or the edge of a seat. Don't let go. John, remind your brothers."

TBC

A/N: As far as I know, the Crownsguard can't use the king's magic like the Kingsglaive can and I don't think Cor is ever shown warping onscreen, but he's not _just_ a Crownsguard. I figure that he, as one of Regis's closest companions, is connected to Reggie's magic and can therefore warp. And he _is_ shown materializing his sword out of an Armiger, right? ....Except I think that's after Regis dies, uuuhhh, idk.... In any case, I headcanon that Cor _can_ warp but just isn't trigger-happy about it.

Although "if worst comes to worst" is the original expression and still widely used, it doesn't make any sense. X''D I'm not the only one who thinks so, either; there are others, including the author of _Robinson Crusoe_ , who use "worse comes to worst."

It was hard to find the information I needed, but I got the impression that backseat (stretch?) limousine passengers are not required to wear seatbelts unless they're on a highway. This might change in the near future, but we'll say that there's resistance to such laws in Gotham, which is filled with both corruption and rich a-holes.

For those who haven't read _The Birds Who Smile_ , the kids, particularly John & Peter, enjoy motorcycle rides, but **if you're going to take a child on a motorcycle, DEFINITELY do your research and make sure they're outfitted with full protective gear, including a well-fitting _motorcycle_ helmet, a specialized belt to keep them attached to the driver, hardy clothing and boots to protect from friction burns, and elbow- and kneepads. A bicycle helmet is not going to cut it, particularly if it doesn't fit well. Any passenger is also supposed to ride behind the driver, not in front. Motorcycle accidents involving inadequately-outfitted children are _really_ ugly.**


End file.
